THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  ROMANCE 


ABRAHAM,  THIS  PLACE  SEEMS  HOLY  AND  YOU  ARE  ITS  PROPHET" 

Page  376 


THE  SOUL  OF 
ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S 
ROMANCE 


BY 

BERNIE  BABCOCK 


WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLOR  BY 
GAYLE  HOSKINS 


PHILADELPHIA  &  LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1919 


COPTBIQHT,    1919,  BT   1.   B.  LIPPDJCOTT  COMPASf 


F-BIWTED   BT   J.  B.  UPPINCOTT  COMPANT 

AT  THE  'WASHINGTON  SQUARE  FBE88 

PHILADELPHIA,   V.  B.  A. 


ToJ 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

IN  the  tremendous  output  of  Lincolniana  that 
has  been  given  to  literature,  it  seems  strange  that 
no  adequate  story  has  been  given  of  one  of  the 
greatest  loves  in  history. 

Many  writers  have  referred  to  it  and  to  its 
moulding  power  on  the  lover's  after  life.  Some 
have  thrown  sidelights  on  the  character  of  the 
woman.  Some  have  mentioned  her  rare  gift  of 
song  and  her  unusual  endowment  of  mind,  and 
one  writer  has  given  a  careful  description  of  her 
personal  appearance.  But  so  far  as  careful  and 
exhaustive  research  shows,  all  this  matter  has 
never  been  woven  into  one  story. 

It  is  also  strange  that  there  has  been  so  much 
controversy  regarding  the  religious  views  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  and  by  those  whose  faith  is 
based  on  the  evidence  required  by  the  Great 
Teacher  when  He  said,  "  Ye  shall  know  them  by 
their  fruits."  Nor  should  it  ever  have  been 
taken  as  an  evidence  of  lack  of  faith  because  he 
did  not  accept  the  creedal  beliefs  of  his  day,  for 
had  not  the  Christ  Himself  strenuously  denied 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

much  that  was  insisted  on  in  His  day,  Christian 
ity  could  never  have  been  possible. 

In  this  story  both  the  love  and  the  faith  of  one 
of  earth's  noblest  souls  is  simply  and  intimately 
told. 

In  an  age  when  the  cynical  opinion  is  too 
often  heard,  that  between  men  and  women  there 
can  be  no  different  or  more  lasting  love  than  the 
mating  instinct  of  animals,  and  at  a  time  when 
the  death  of  millions  of  the  world's  best  men 
has  brought  into  fresh  insistence  the  age-long 
question,  "If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again!"  a 
fresh  and  different  setting  forth  of  Abraham 
Lincoln's  master  passion  for  a  woman,  and  his 
calm  and  unshakable  faith  in  immortality,  may 
be  of  more  than  usual,  interest  and  value. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ONE  APRIL  DAY 11 

II.  IN  CLARY'S  GROVE 23 

III.  THE  RAILSPLITTER 33 

IV.  THE  PILGRIM 40 

V.  SWAPPING  HOSSES 50 

VI.    "FlXIN  FER  THE  ANGELS" 60 

VII.  "Sic  'EM,  KITTY" 66 

VIII.  THE  TEST 73 

IX.  "THOU  SHALT  NOT  COVET" 83 

X.  THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIG 92 

XI.  PETER  CARTWRIGHT  ARRIVES 101 

XII.  THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 113 

XIII.  A  BUSY  SINNER 124 

XIV.  THE  SPELLING  MATCH 134 

XV.  "WHO'S  AFRAID?" 146 

XVI.  POLITICS  AND  STEAMBOATS 157 

XVII.  CAPTAIN  LINCOLN 163 

XVIII.  "BOOKS  BEAT  GUNS,  SONNY" 171 

XIX.  ABE  MAKES  A  SPEECH 175 

XX.  STORY  OF  A  BOY 180 

XXI.  ONLY  WASTING  TIME 189 

XXII.  TOWN  TOPICS 202 

XXIII.  ALIAS  MCNEIL 211 

XXIV.  IN  THE  CELLAR 221 

9 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV.  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER     227 

XXVI.  GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 232 

XXVII.  COVERING  THE  COALS 245 

XXVIII.  "HE'S  RUINT  HISSELF  FOREVER" 256 

XXIX.  GOD'S  LITTLE  GIRL 233 

XXX.  THE  END  OF  JUNE 271 

XXXI.  STRONGER  THAN  DEATH 277 

XXXII.  THE  UNFINISHED  SONG 286 

XXXIII.  "WHERE  is  ABE  LINCOLN?" 294 

XXXIV.  FOR  THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  TO  BE 305 

XXXV.  THE  POEM 310 

XXXVI.  ON  THE  WAY                                 321 


THE  SOUL  OF 
ANN  RUTLEDGE 

CHAPTER  I 

ONE  APRIL,  DAY 

' '  ANN  !  Ann !  Ann  Butledge !  Hallo !  Hallo ! ' ' 

The  cheerful  voice  belonged  to  a  rosy-cheeked 
girl  who  shouted  in  front  of  Rutledge  Inn,  one 
of  the  straggling  group  of  log  houses  that  made 
the  village  of  New  Salem,  Illinois,  in  1831. 

Pausing  in  front  of  the  Inn,  the  animated  girl 
repeated  her  call  lustily  as  she  watched  for  the 
closed  door  to  open. 

"Hallo  yourself,  Nance  Cameron,"  a  clear, 
musical  voice  replied  from  somewhere  in  the 
rear  of  the  weather-stained  building,  and  the 
next  moment  Ann  Rutledge  came  around  the 
corner. 

* '  Look !  Springtime  has  come !  Isn't  it  splen 
did  to  be  alive  in  the  springtime  ?  I  found  them 
in  the  thicket ! ' '  and  pausing  she  held  out  an  arm 
ful  of  plum  branches  white  with  their  first  bloom. 

In  the  moment  she  stood,  an  artist  might 

have  caught  an  inspiration.    On  one  side  of  the 

ll 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

background  was  a  vista  of  open  garden,  perhaps, 
and  meadow,  with  a  glimpse  of  forest  farther 
back,  and  over  it  all  the  white-flecked,  spring- 
blue  sky. 

On  the  other  side  was  the  >solid  framework 
that  told  of  days  when  there  had  been  no  meadow 
or  garden,  and  of  the  pioneer  labor  that  had 
wrought  the  change. 

In  the  foreground  of  this  brown  and  green 
and  blue  setting  stood  a  slender  girl  in  a  pink- 
sprigged  calico  dress.  Her  violet  eyes  were 
shaded  with  dark  lashes.  Her  shapely  head  was 
crowned  with  a  wealth  of  golden  hair  in  which 
a  glint  of  red  seemed  hiding.  A  white  kerchief 
was  pinned  low  about  her  neck,  and  across  her 
breast  were  tied  the  white  strings  of  a  ruffled 
bonnet  which  dropped  on  her  shoulders  behind. 
She  pressed  her  face  for  a  moment  in  the  armful 
of  blossoms,  sniffing  deep,  and  with  the  joy  of 
youth  exclaimed  again,  "Isn't  it  splendid  to  be 
alive  in  the  springtime ! ' ' 

But  Nance  Cameron  had  no  eye  for  the  artis 
tic  at  this  moment. 

"Have  you  been  to  the  river?" 

"River!    What's  going  on  at  the  river!" 

"Didn't  Davy  tell  you,  nor  your  father?" 
12 


ONE  APRIL  DAY 

''No,  I've  just  come  home  across  lots  from 
Green's.  What's  happening  at  the  river?" 

"Everything,  and  everybody's  down  seeing 
it  happen.  Let 's  go. ' ' 

"  If  you'll  wait  till  I  fix  my  flowers." 

11  Don't  wait — drop  them  or  bring  them. 
Everybody  but  us  is  there. ' ' 

Nance  Cameron  had  turned  to  the  roadway. 
Ann  was  about  to  join  her  when  she  turned  back. 

"Bad  luck!  Bad  luck!"  shouted  Nance. 
"Don't  go  back!" 

"I  forgot  to  shut  the  back  door." 

Nance  stopped,  made  a  cross  in  the  dirt  and 
spat  on  it. 

"  You  don't  pay  attention  to  your  signs 
worth  a  cent, ' '  she  said,  as  Ann  rejoined  her. 

"I  don't  much  believe  in  signs,"  Ann 
answered. 

' ' That's  where  you're  silly.  A  black  cat  ran 
across  Mrs.  Armstrong's  path  no  later  than 
yesterday  after  she  had  her  soap  in  the  kettle. 
And  wasn't  that  soap  a  fizzle !  And  don't  Han 
nah  Armstrong  know  how  to  make  soap?  It 
was  the  cat  did  it,  and  if  I  hadn't  changed  your 
luck  just  now  you'd  been  in  for  something  awful 

— might  never  live  to  marry  John  McNeiL" 

13 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Ann  laughed,  and  they  started  on  their  way 
down  the  road,  that  stretched  the  length  of  New 
Salem 's  one  street  toward  Sangamon  River. 

"What's  going  on  at  the  river?"  Ann  asked 
again. 

1 '  Somebody 's  ark  is  stuck  on  the  dam.  It  got 
stuck  just  before  dark  last  night.  The  crew 
couldn't  get  it  off  and  had  to  wait  until  morning. 
They  came  up  to  the  store  to  get  some  drinks. 
The  town  men  gathered  in  and  you  never  on  this 
earth  heard  such  roars  of  laughter  as  those  men 
let  out.  Ma  couldn't  guess  what  it  could  be 
about.  When  Pa  came  in  he  told  her  there  was 
the  funniest  tall  human  being  he  ever  set  eyes 
on  with  the  ark  crew.  Said  his  legs  reached  as 
high  up  as  a  common  man 's  breech  belt,  his  body 
reached  up  as  high  as  another  man's  arms,  and 
his  head  was  up  on  top  of  all  that.  And  Pa  said 
he  told  the  funniest  stories,  and  the  men  nearly 
died.  Pa  was  laughing  yet  when  he  told  Ma 
about  it." 

' '  Is  the  boat  stuck  yet  ? " 

"She's  stuck  yet.  Dr.  Allan  and  Mentor 
Graham  just  went  down  and  I  heard  them  talk 
ing.  She's  on  her  way  to  New  Orleans  with  a 
load  of  barreled  pork  and  stuff.  Davy's  been 

14 


ONE  APRIL  DAY 

up  to  the  store  twice.  He  says  the  crew  have 
worked  like  beavers  to  get  the  cargo  off  the  big 
boat,  but  that  the  water  is  running  in  bad  and 
the  barrels  are  slipping  to  the  end  which  sticks 
out  over  the  dam  and  she's  sure  to  go  over. 
She  's  going  to  make  a  great  splash,  and  I  love 
splashes.  Let 's  hurry ! ' ' 

"I  hope  nobody  gets  drowned,"  Ann  said. 

"Like  as  not  they  will,  and  we'll  get  to  see 
them  fished  out.  Let 's  trot  a  little. ' ' 

With  the  inspiring  hope  of  hearing  a  splash 
and  perhaps  seeing  the  first  shocking  throes  of 
a  drowning,  the  two  girls  hastened  on  down  the 
slope  that  reached  to  Eutledge  Mill,  where  the 
dam  was. 

It  was  true,  as  Nance  had  said,  New  Salem 
was  out  to  witness  the  unusual  sight  of  a  flat 
boat  on  the  dam  where  it  had  been  stuck  nearly 
twenty-four  hours.  It  was  a  river  craft  of  the 
usual  flat-boat  size,  about  forty  feet  long  by 
fifteen  wide,  and  sides  six  feet  high.  One  end 
was  covered  with  a  roof  of  boards,  and  there 
were  other  boards  fitted  with  ragged  sails  to 
hasten  the  freight-bearer  on  its  long  journey  of 
1800  miles  to  New  Orleans. 

The  crowd  on  the  river  bank  and  the  plat- 

15 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

form  of  the  mill  was  lavish  with  suggestions  and 
advice  which  were  shouted  to  the  crew  working 
desperately  to  save  the  cargo. 

Ann  Eutledge  and  Nance  Cameron  paused 
a  moment  to  take  in  the  view  of  the  unfortunate 
boat,  whose  rear  stuck  clear  of  the  water  and 
into  whose  fore  the  barrels  were  slowly  settling. 
It  seemed  nothing  could  prevent  the  impending 
catastrophe. 

' ' Let's  get  out  on  the  platform.  I  would  like 
to  see  that  funny,  tall  fellow  your  father  told 
about, ' '  Ann  said. 

Passing  through  the  mill,  deserted  for  the 
time  by  the  dusty  miller,  the  girls  joined  the 
crowd  on  the  platform  and  Ann  found  herself 
standing  by  a  peculiar  appearing  personage,  a 
small  man  of  uncertain  age,  who  wore  foxed 
breeches  and  coon-skin  cap,  and  who  had  but  one 
good  eye  which  just  now  was  fastened  on  the 
fore  of  the  imperiled  boat. 

"  'Ole  Bar's'  come  back,"  Ann  whispered, 
punching  Nance  and  turning  her  eye  toward  the 
old  man  who  stood  beside  her. 

'Ole  Bar'  was  a  person  of  interest,  andi  very 
peculiar.  He  was  chewing  some  sort  of  a  cud 
rapidly.  When  an  unusually  interesting  sug- 

16 


ONE  APRIL  DAY 

gestion  was  shouted  out  over  the  roar  of  the  dam 
water,  he  rolled  his  cud  into  a  hollow  made  by 
the  loss  of  two  back  teeth  and  kept  quiet  until 
the  moment  of  suspense  was  past,  when  he  made 
up  time  working  his  jaws.  Nance  only  glanced 
at  him  now.  * '  I  wonder  where  that  tall  baboon 
is  V '  she  said,  craning  her  neck  toward  the  raft. 

"See  that  thar  patch  of  something  that  ain't 
no  color  the  Lord  God  ever  made  nor  no  shape 
He  ever  seen?  Well,  that 's  his  hat.  He 'sunder 
it,  squattin*  in  the  boat,  doin'  something  to  get 
'er  goin'." 

"What's  he  doing? ' '  Ann  ventured. 

"Eh— that's  it,"  Ole  Bar  said  with  a  dry 
smile.  "The  rest  of  the  crews  runnin'  about 
like  chickens  with  their  heads  chopped  off,  and 
these  here  galoots  along  shore  is  yelping  like  a 
pack  of  coyotes  after  a  buffalo  bull.  But  he's 
keepin'  cool.  This  kind  generally  gits  something 
done.  Howsomever,  that  ark's  goin'  over.  I've 
been  numerous  in  turkey-trottin'  and  bee-run- 
nin'  and  bar-killin',  but  I  hain't  never  before 
seen  an  ark  in  no  such  fix  as  this  un  is. ' ' 

"Look  Nance,"  Ann  whispered.  "He's  ris 
ing  up — look!" 

A  moment  his  body  partially  showed.    Then 
2  17 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

he  bent  low  again.  The  next  moment  there  was 
a  sudden  spurt  of  water  from  the  bottom  of  the 
boat.  The  water  pumping  its  way  out  caught  the 
attention  of  the  crowd. 

* '  He *s  emptying  her  out ! '  >  they  cried.  ' '  How 
did  he  do  it  I" 

The  tail  figure  under  the  colorless,  shapeless 
hat  had  now  lifted  himself,  and,  as  if  to 
straighten  his  muscles  after  a  long  cramped  posi 
tion,  he  stretched  to  a  height  that  seemed  to  be 
that  of,  a  giant,  threw  out  his  chest,  reached  his 
long  arms  to  a  prodigious  expanse  and  took  a 
deep  breath. 

As  he  did  so  Ann  felt  someone  touch  her.  It 
was  "Ole  Bar."  "Some  huggin*  he  could  do 
with  them  arms  in  matin'  season'— hey,  Molly," 
he  said;  and  when  Ann  turned  to  look  at  Ole 
Bar  he  winked  his  good  eye  at  her  and  waited 
for  an  answer. 

A  shout  from  the  crowd  made  any  answer  to 
this  remark  unnecessary.  For  a  moment  the 
towering  youth  stood  before  them  like  a  comical 
picture,  slender,  angular,  barefooted,  his  faded 
yellow  breeches  scarce  more  than  clearing  his 
knees  and  showing  a  pair  of  spindle  legs.  His 

uncolored  shirt  was  flung  wide  open  and  over  one 

18 


ONE  APRIL  DAY 

shoulder  was  stretched  a  suspender  which  held 
one  breeches-leg  higher  than  the  other.  As  the 
water  pumped  itself  out  and  the  boat  began  to 
right,  they  knew  that  he  had  bored  a  hole. 

The  cheers  continued,  he  lifted  his  shapeless 
hat  and,  with  the  grace  of  a  gentleman,  waved 
it  a  couple  of  times  at  the  cheering  crowd.  Then 
he  pushed  back  a  mop  of  black  hair,  clapped  his 
head-covering  down  on  it  and  turned  to  help 
reload  the  cargo  that  had  been  moved  into  small 
boats. 

To  bore  a  hole  in  the  bottom  of  a  water-filled 
boat  was  no  great  physical  task.  But  the  crowd 
cheered  uproariously  as  the  boat  righted  herself. 
Men  shouted,  women  waved  their  bonnets  and 
kerchiefs,  and  Ann  Butledge  shook  her  branches 
of  wild  plums. 

Again  the  ungainly  young  giant  waved  his 
hat. 

"He's  waving  at  you,  Ann,"  John  McNeil, 
who  had  joined  the  girls,  said,  coming  up  behind 
her.  '  *  Wave  at  him. ' '  And  she  did  and  laughed 
as  he  swung  his  limp  and  tattered  hat. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  that  kind  grow?" 
Nance  asked.  "He  looks  like  a  giant  scarecrow, 
but  he's  had  lessons  in  manners,  the  identical 
same  kind  Mentor  Graham  tells  about." 

19 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  reload  the  boat. 
As  she  started  on  her  way  the  cheers  died,  and 
most  of  the  crowd  went  up  the  hill  to  the  village. 

"Let's  stay  to  see  the  last  of  it,"  Ann  said 
to  Nance. 

"You  want  him  to  wave  at  you  some  more," 
John  McNeil  said  to  Ann.  "Well,  go  ahead — 
you'll  never  see  him  again." 

The  boat  sailed  on.  To  those  on  board  who 
looked  back  a  few  moments  later,  the  mill  and 
dam  were  resolving  themselves  into  an  indistinct 
patch  of  gray  and  brown,  against  which  a  bit  of 
pink,  waving  something  white,  stood  out.  As  a 
farewell  answer  to  the  waving  of  the  white,  the 
mellow  music  of  the  boat  horn  came  floating  back. 

The  sun  went  down  behind  the  forests  bor 
dering  the  smoothly  flowing  Sangamon;  the 
crude  craft  passed  from  view. 

And  yet  once  again  the  mellow  tones  of  the 
primitive  horn  came  floating  back  over  the  forest 
and  across  the  river. 

'  '  What  a  good  sound ! '  *  Ann  exclaimed.  "  It 's 
soft  as  the  first  shadows,  and  it's  strong. ' ' 

"Yes,  strong  as  that  man's  arms  in  mating 
season — hey,  Molly  ? ' '  And  Nance  punched  Ann 

in  the  side. 

20 


ONE  APRIL  DAY 

The  girls  laughed  merrily.  ' '  Isn  't  *  Ole  Bar ' 
funny!"  Ann  said.  "He's  just  back  from  an 
awful  exciting  trip  to  Arkansas,  wherever  that 
is.  He  '11  have  lots  to  tell. ' ' 

"Davy  and  father  will  get  his  stories.  But 
say,  Nance,  do  sounds  make  you  think  of 
smells?" 

"I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"Don't  cow-bells  make  you  think  of  hay  and 
dandelions  and  grass  and  the  smell  of  the  cow- 
lot  in  the  evening?" 

' '  They  do  go  together. ' ' 

"And  don't  water  running  over  roots  make 
you  think  of  willow  blooms,  and  water  dripping 
over  stones  sound  like  ferns  when  the  stems  are 
crushed?  And  the  sound  of  crows — don't  they 
bring  the  smell  of  the  field  furrows?  And  don't 
bees  and  honey-locust,  and  robins  and  apple 
blossoms,  go  together!  I  could  name  a  hundred 
sounds  that  have  smells  for  partners. 

"Yes,  but  you're  funny,  Ann,  to  think  of  such 
things." 

"Now  I  have  a  new  pair.  The  sound  of  that 
horn,  away  off  behind  the  trees,  will  always  make 
me  think  of  the  first  plum  blossoms.  The  smell 

and  the  sound  came  together  as  I  shook  the 

21 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

branches,  and  the  smell  right  here  seemed  to 
me  exactly  the  same  thing  told  in  another  way  as 
the  sound  away  over  the  water.  0  Nance — don 't 
you  love  plum  blossoms?" 

* '  I  don 't  know  as  they  're  any  better  than  dog 
wood  or  haw  blooms  and  I'm  not  crazy  about  any 
of  them." 

"You're  just  like  John  McNeil.  John  don't 
like  plum  blossoms.  I  nearly  cried  when  he  told 
me  he  was  going  to  chop  out  all  the  plums  and 
wild  vines  on  his  place.  But  those  on  our  place 
will  not  be  cut.  Father  has  promised  me  the 
thicket  and  the  dell  on  the  creek  for  my  flower 
garden  forever." 

' '  I  'd  rather  have  a  new  belt-buckle.  But  let 's 
go." 

"I'm  ready — I'll  race  you  to  the  top  of  the 
hill  before  the  sun  drops  behind  the  trees.  One — 
two — three — off, ' '  and  with  her  spring  flowers  in 
her  arms  and  her  bonnet  flying,  Ann  with  Nance 
ran  shouting  up  the  hillside  in  the  slanting  rays 
of  the  April  sun, 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  CLABY'S  GROVE 

THE  evening  of  the  day  the  imprisoned  flat 
boat  made  its  way  successfully  out  of  New 
Salem,  the  Clary  Grove  gang  had  a  meeting. 
Windy  Batts  was  expected  lo  return  from 
Springfield,  where  he  had  gone  to  prove  his 
fitness  for  fellowship  with  the  Clary  Grove  Boys 
by  thrashing  a  Springfield  strong  man  who  had 
cast  aspersions  on  his  character  as  a  pugilist. 

Clary  Grove  was  a  settlement  of  a  few  log 
houses  near  New  Salem,  so  called  for  Bill  Clary, 
the  owner  of  the  grove  where  the  select  met  to 
swap  stories,  discuss  news  and  partake  of  real 
liquor. 

Every  new-comer  to  the  vicinity  was  sized  up. 
If  Clary  Grove  was  friendly,  so  much  the  better 
for  the  new-comer.  He  might  not  become  a 
member  of  the  gang.  Indeed  few  were  allowed 
to  sit  in  close  fellowship  about  the  fire  with  the 
gang,  but  he  would  at  least  be  let  alone. 

Windy  Batts  had  expressed  a  desire  to  be  of 
the  gang.  He  was,  however,  looked  upon  with  a 
degree  of  suspicion,  as  he  had  done  some  exhort- 

23 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ing  for  the  Hard  Shells,  and  Clary  Grove  looked 
askance  at  religion  in  any  form,  and  while  he 
had  boasted  of  '  *  dingblasting  the  daylights  out 
of  them  shoutin'  Methodists,"  Clary  Grove  was 
not  satisfied  that  he  was  proper  stuff  to  fellow 
ship  with  them  and  their  whiskey. 

They  awaited  his  return  from  Springfield, 
where  he  was  to  prove  his  pugilistic  ability,  with 
some  interest. 

The  cool,  spring  air  with  the  tang  of  frost  not 
yet  safely  out  of  it,  made  a  fire  comfortable,  and 
a  bright  blaze  burned  between  the  two  smooth 
logs  on  which  the  gang  roosted. 

Buck  Thompson,  the  luckiest  horse-trader  in 
that  section,  and  Ole  Bar  were  the  first  to  arrive. 
Ole  Bar  sat  beside  the  fire,  his  jaws  working 
industriously  and  his  one  good  eye  shining  like 
a  spark.  No  one  of  the  gang  had  ever  been  able 
to  learn  what  misfortune  had  befallen  the  lost 
eye  of  Ole  Bar. 

That  he  had  been  "  cleaned  of  it  right  and 
proper"  all  agreed.  Opinion  was  divided,  how 
ever,  as  to  the  cause  or  method,  one  portion  be 
lieving  a  bear  had  clawed  it  out,  because  of  his 
familiarity  with  bears,  and  others  holding  to  the 

opinion  that  some  specimen  of  womankind  was 

24 


IN  CLARY'S  GROVE 

responsible  for  the  loss,  because  of  his  oft- 
expressed  unfriendly  feeling  toward  women. 

Jo  Kelsy,  a  fat  and  favorite  brother  of  the 
clan,  who  was  always  ready  with  a  new  story 
about  a  ghost  or  a  witch  from  his  one  treasure, 
an  inherited  copy  of  Shakespeare,  was  the  third 
to  arrive. 

His  usual  costume  was  varied  slightly.  He 
came  hobbling  in,  one  foot  encased  in  a  moccasin. 
Ole  Bar  glanced  at  his  mismated  feet. 

"What's  bit  ye,  Jo?"  he  asked. 

"My  wife  she  dropped  a  five-gallon  crock 
on  my  foot,"  he  answered. 

"Good  thing  it  wasn't  your  head,  for  be  it 
known  by  man  and  bars,  them  as  mixes  up  with 
wimmen  has  heads  softer  than  their  feet." 

Jo  laughed  good  naturedly.  Then  the  three 
talked  of  the  raft  and  the  ungainly  youth  who 
had  resorted  to  the  homely  but  efficient  expe 
dient  of  boring  a  hole. 

"I've  seen  some  legs  in  my  day,"  Jo  Kelsy 
observed, ' '  but  none  long  as  his  'n. ' ' 

"Ain't  no  longer  than  yours  is,  Dumplin'," 
said  Old  Bar.  "Yours  reaches  to  the  ground 
and  his'n  don't  go  no  further.  According  to 

my  way  of  figgerin'  his  legs  wasn't  so  numerous 

25 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 


when  it  comes  to  length  as  his  head.     That 
galoot's  got  a  long  head." 

A  couple  more  of  the  gang  dropped  in,  and 
the  talk  continued  about  the  raft  and  the  head 
raftsman.  "Ever  see  anything  like  it!  Wouldn't 
think  a  backwoodsman  could  tell  such  stories 
as  he  did  last  night,  would  ye?" 

"Nor  know  enough  to  get  an  ark  floating 
when  she  was  stuck  so  tight  that  G-od  hisself 
couldn  't  stick  her  no  tighter. ' ' 

"McNeil  was  figgerin'  on  her  cargo  to  see 
what  it  was  worth." 

"Trust  McNeil  for  figgerin'  the  worth  of  a 
cargo — or  anything  else. ' ' 

"Ann  Eutledge— eh?" 

They  laughed.  Then  one  said,  "I  heard  him 
tellin'  Hill  him  and  Ann  was  goin'  to  marry  and 
have  a  big  infare.  But  her  Pappy  won't  let  her 
till  next  year.  She  has  to  git  morel  schoolin'." 

"He  better  git  while  gittin's  good.  John 
Eutledge  is  fixed,  and  he  sets  more  store  by  Ann 
than  the  whole  other  eight  of  'em. ' ' 

' '  McNeil  knows  all  that.  But  here  comes  Kit 
Parsons.  Wonder  what's  kept  him  late?  Kit, 
you 're  late." 

"Yeh,"  and  he  sat  down  by  the  fire. 

26 


IN  CLARY'S  GROVE 

' 'What's  extry?  Been  stealin'  anything  or 
gettin'  religion?" 

"Same  thing  as  gettin '  religion,"  he  said. 
"Been  fulfillin'  the  Scripture  injunction." 

"Which  one?' 

"Been  replenishin'  and  muiltiplyin'." 

"Mollie  got  another  litter?"  Ole  Bar  asked 
with  a  show  of  interest. 

"Just  one  this  year.  But  I  calculate  that  a 
man  what  grubs  for  three  which  arrives  in  two 
years  is  somewhat  religious." 

"Bars  is  that  religious,"  the  one-eyed  man 
observed,  "only  when  they  pursue  the  course  of 
Nature  they  don't  blame  it  on  religion." 

After  a  laugh  Ole  Bar  said  solemnly  to  Kit, 
"If  you  young  fellers  knew  what  was  good  fer 
you  you'd  let  wimmin  alone." 

"  Where  'd  you  learn  so  much  about  wim 
min?"  Jo  asked. 

"From  bars.  Bars  rub  noses  at  matin'  time 
and  tears  the  ears  offen  each  other  when  the 
cubs  has  to  be  fed.  Let  wimmin  alone  and  save 
the  wear  on  your  noses  and  ears." 

"How's  a  body  going  to  leave  any  ancestry 
if  he  don't  never  git  no  place  near  a  woman?" 

Buck  Thompson  asked. 

27 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Ancestry?'*  repeated  Ole  Bar.  "Well, 
what  under  heaven  is  these  little,  wet-nosed  an 
cestry  good  f  er  anyhow  ?  Never  had  no  ancestry 
myself  and  I'm  gettin'  along  all  right — got 
along  all  right  while  I  was  in  Arkansas,  and 
anybody  that  can  do  that  don't  need  to  worry 
about  leavin'  no  ancestry." 

"Tell  us  about  Arkansas,"  was  the  next 
demand. 

Ole  Bar  shifted  his  cud  into  its  receptacle 
and  said,  "Wall,  as  you  all  know,  in  bar  hunts 
I've  been  numerous,  but  I  hain't  never  seen  no 
such  bars  as  grow  in  Arkansas.  The  bars  in 
Arkansas  is  the  most  promiscuous  I've  ever  seen 
and  don't  give  a  damn  for  nobody.  But,  Squire, 
lets  licker  up.  I'm  gettin'  so  dry  I'm  takin'  the 
rattles, ' '  and  he  reached  for  the  bottle  which  was 
passed  around. 

"Bars  in  Arkansas  grows  so  fat  they  can't 
wobble.  You  fellers  here  that  think  you're 
gettin'  the  real  thing  when  you  bag  the  chipper- 
growlers  and  shite  pokers  of  these  parts  don't 
know  no  thin'  about  what's  growing  in  Arkansas. 
Them  bars  rear  up  into  the  heavens  high  as  that 

feller  that  plugged  the  ark. ' ' 

28 


IN  CLARY'S  GROVE 

"That  smells  rather  tall,"  Buck  Thompson 
observed,  but  Ole  Bar  paid  no  attention. 

' '  The  woods  in  Arkansas  is  ankle  deep  with 
acorns  and  berries  and  other  bar  food.  Every 
body  there  eats  bar,  bar-ham  and  bar-sassage. 
The  beds  is  covered  with  bar-skins.  They  don't 
use  small  skins  like  wild  cat  fer  nothin'  'cept 
piller  covers. ' ' 

"Do  they  have  hoss  tradin'  in  them  parts'?" 
Buck  Thompson  inquired. 

"Hoss  tradin'?  Well,  I  should  say  'Yeh.' 
You  galoots  think  you  swap  hosses,  but  in 
Arkansas " 

"Hallo,  fellers,"  shouted  someone  in  the 
outer  circle  of  light. 

"It's  Windy  Batts,"  several  declared  at 
once,  and  immediately  the  man  whose  qualifi 
cations  to  became  a  member  of  the  charmed 
group  had  been  put  to  the  test,  entered  the  circle 
of  light. 

He  was  scrutinized  and  with  not  an  alto 
gether  approving  eye.  His  arm  was  done  up  in 
a  sling.  The  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  was 
wrapped  in  a  red,  calico  handkerchief.  Some 
thing  like  a  knob  stuck  out  back  of  one  ear  which 
was  covered  with  a  square  of  muslin,  giving  it 

29 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

the  appearance  of  a  pat  of  butter.  One  eye  was 
black  and  both  legs  seemed  to  be  stiff.  Greet 
ings  were  brief.  The  main  question  was.  "Who 
whipped?" 

"Yeh — who  hollered?"  was  asked. 

Windy  drew  near  the  fire.  "It  was  a  great 
fight,"  he  began.  "The  greatest  fight  that  was 
ever  fought  in  Springfield.  We  rolled  over  and 
over,  him  sometimes  on  top  and  me  sometimes 
under.  It  was  a  fearful  fight.  Court  turned  out 
to  see  it  and  an  Indian  Chief  was  there.  He  said 
he  never  seen  nothing  like  it." 

"Who  whipped?"  was  again  asked. 

"Yeh— who  hollered?" 

Ignoring  these  questions,  Windy  continued. 

"The  big  Indian  and  the  Judge  of  the  Court 
both  said  they  hadn't  never  seen  such  sledge 
hammer  blows  as  I  hit.  It  was  them  blows  that 
put  my  shoulder  out  of  joint.  But  I  fixed  his  eye. 
You  couldn't  have  told  it  from  a  knot-hole  in  a 
burnt  tree.  Time  he  aimed  a  second  socdologer 
at  me  I  was  ready.  The  crowd  roared  like  a 
camp-meeting.  We  fell  to  it.  He  got  a  straddle 
of  my  head  and  chawed  my  finger.  There  wasn  't 
no  place  for  me  to  git  holt  owing  to  the  fact  my 
head  was  pinned  in  twix  his  legs.  Jean  britches 

30 


IN  CLARY'S  GROVE 

didn't  taste  well  and  was  ungodly  tough.  But 
I  was  resolute.  I  found  the  right  place  and  I 
chawed  like  hell.  But  would  he  let  go  of  my 
finger?  No,  and  I  finally  had  to  knock  half  his 
teeth  out  to  git  my  finger  out  his  mouth. '  ' 

' '  You  tanned  him — hey  ? ' ' 

'  *  You  mauled  him,  Windy  ? ' ' 

"You  beat  the  Springfield  stuffing  out  of 
him?" 

"And  nobody  parted  you?" 

Ignoring  these  questions,  Windy  took  a 
fresh  start.  "And  there's  no  telling  how  long 
it  might  have  lasted,  us  two  going  'round  and 
'round  and  up  and  down  and  every  which  way. 
I  was  eternally  mauling  the  ding-blasted  day 
lights  out  of  him  when  the  Judge  got  hold  of  me 
and  asked  as  a  favor  if  I  wouldn't  put  off  the 
finish  till  next  day.  He  said  he  couldn't  get 
nobody  into  court  if  I  didn't  and  so  I — I 
hollered. ' ' 

There  was  a  moment  of  profound  silence. 
Windy  shifted  his  weight  from  one  stiff  leg  to 
the  other,  stroked  his  bandaged  arm  and  sighed. 

' '  Spit  in  his  ashes ! ' ' 

It  was  the  voice  of  Jack  Armstrong  that  broke 
the  painful  stillness.  Immediately  every  man 

31 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

emptied  the  contents  of  his  mouth,  with  no  small 
force,  into  the  fire,  which  voiced  its  protest  by  a 
vigorous  spitting  and  sputtering. 

Then  Windy  was  given  some  advice. 

"This  ain't  no  place  fer  you.  You  go  join 
them  Hard  Shells  that's  fixin'  fer  a  ten  days' 
fightin'  match  with  the  devil.  They  have  the 
same  runnin'  off  at  the  mouth  as  you  have,  but 
they  hain't  never  drawed  no  devil's  blood  yet, 
and  that 's  your  crowd. ' ' 

Windy 's  lips  moved  as  if  to  speak. 

"Boll  in  your  molasses  sucker  and  tram- 
poose, ' '  was  the  order. 

"Yeh — trampoose,"  was  the  repeated  order. 
"Go  fight  the  devil." 

"The  devil — that's  the  Clary  Grove  gang," 
he  muttered  as  he  turned  away. 

* '  Devil-fighter, ' '  some  one  said  as  his  limping 
figure  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

' '  If  the  devil  pays  any  more  heed  to  him  than 
he  would  to  a  skit-fly  he's  a  blame  bigger  ass 
than  I  've  ever  took  him  to  be, ' '  Ole  Bar  observed. 
"Let's  licker  up." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  EAILSPLITTEB 

IT  WAS  two  months  after  the  flat  boat  stuck 
on  the  dam  at  New  Salem  and  the  day  following 
a  quiet  election  in  the  village,  that  Nance  Cam 
eron  ran  over  to  Eutledge  Inn  with  news  of  great 
importance  for  Ann. 

' '  Long  Shanks  has  arrived, ' '  she  announced 
without  ceremony. 

' '  Long  Shanks  1 ' '  Ann  questioned.  '  *  Who  is 
Long  Shanks!" 

"The  giant  scarecrow,  the  big  baboon," 
Nance  answered. 

'  *  Baboon, ' '  Ann  repeated.  * '  Nance  what  are 
you  talking"  about  1 ' ' 

"My  land,  Ann  Rutledge,  have  you  forgot 
ten  the  unhinged  giant  you  waved  plum  blos 
soms  at — the  captain  of  the  flat  boat  who  looked 
like  sin,  but  knew  how  to  use  his  hat  like  a 
gentleman?" 

"  Oh ! "  answered  Ann.    ' '  Has  he  come  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  He  got  here  yesterday.  They  didn't 
have  anybody  to  help  at  election.  Mentor 
Graham  asked  him  if  he  could  write.  He  said 

3  33 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

he  could  make  his  rabbit's  foot,  and  so  he  helped. 
Mr.  Graham  says  he  can  write  well.  Besides, 
he  told  them  stories,  and  they  liked  that.  Last 
night  he  came  to  our  house. ' ' 

' '  Tell  me  about  him.  What  does  he  look  like 
close  to?" 

'  *  He 's  the  homeliest  man  God  ever  put  breath 
into.  His  legs  run  down  into  feet  so  long  he 
can't  find  anything  big  enough  to  stick  them 
under,  and  his  arms  are  nearly  as  long  as  his 
legs.  He  has  a  big  head,  big  nose,  big  mouth,  big 
ears,  lots  of  black  hair,  and  he's  hard  and  horny 
and  knotty  like  a  tree — and  as  green,  too. ' ' 

" Did  he  talk  to  you?" 

"No,  he  didn't  pay  me  any  heed  at  all,  but  he 
and  Ma  got  to  be  good  friends  before  he'd  been 
in  the  house  an  hour.  She  was  tired  half  to  death 
putting  up  berries  and  trying  to  get  supper. 
She  put  Johnnie  watching  the  baby  and  he  let 
him  roll  down  the  steps.  The  new  man  heard  him 
crying  and  went  right  out  and  got  him.  In  five 
minutes  the  baby  was  laughing.  This  made  Ma 
feel  better  and  she  got  talking,  and  first  thing  I 
knew  he  was  helping  her  wash  dishes  and  telling 
her  about  what  he  saw  in  New  Orleans  and  down 
the  Mississippi.  He  talks  better  than  he  looks. 

34 


THE  RAILSPLITTER 

' '  How  does  he  talk  I  Has  he  a  big,  deep  voice 
and  mellow,  like  the  sound  of  the  horn  over  the 
tree  and  river?" 

"No,  indeed.  He  sets  out  thin  sounding,  but 
his  voice  seems  to  work  down  into  his  chest  as  he 
talks  and  he  sounds  pretty  good.  After  supper 
Pa  brought  in  the  cider.  Mr.  Graham  came  over 
and  Dr.  Allen,  and  they  got  Long  Shanks  talking 
and  didn't  want  him  to  quit.  Mentor  Graham 
took  a  great  liking  to  him.  He  lived  in  Ken 
tucky  once  and  then  Indiana.  He  asked  about 
the  folks  in  these  parts  and  when  he  heard 
Jo  Kelsy  owns  a  Shakespeare  he  said  he  was 
going  to  try  to  borrow  it,  said  he 's  read  the  Bible 
till  he  knew  it  by  heart  and  the  Constitution 
and  some  other  things  but  never  seen  a  Shake 
speare.  When  Mr.  Graham  told  him  he  had  fifty 
books  his  duH,  gray  eyes  turned  bright  as  new 
candles.  He's  terrible  interested  in  books,  but 
he  don't  have  any  time  for  girls." 

' '  How  do  you  know  I ' ' 

'  *  'Cause.  Ma  asked  him  if  he  saw  the  girl 
waving  at  him,  when  the  boat  stuck?  He  said, 
'Yes'm — wasn't  it  kind  of  her?'  " 

"Ma  said,  'She's  the  prettiest  girl  in  town.' 

"He  said,  'Yes'm — isn't  that  nice!' 

35 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Ma  said,  'She's  the  smartest  girl  in  town.' 

He  said,  ' Yes 'm— it's  worth  while  to  be 
smart ! ' ' 

"Ma  told  him  you  was  going  to  marry  John 
McNeil.  He  said,  *  They  all  do  it. '  And  he  never 
even  asked  your  name. 

"I  tell  you  what;  you  drop  past  to-morrow 
afternoon  before  supper.  He'll  be  there  then. 
He  won't  look  at  you,  he 's  so  funny.  But  you  can 
see  him. ' ' 

It  was  with  as  much  interest  as  a  person  goes 
to  a  show  that  Ann  Rutledge  went  to  the  Came 
ron  home  the  next,  afternoon.  She  was  doomed 
to  disappointment. 

'  *  He 's  gone, ' '  Nance  informed  her. 

"Where?" 

*  *  Gone  out  to  split  rails  for  some  folks  that 
have  come  in  from  Indiana  and  are  taking  a 
homestead  near  Turtle  Ford.  He 's  going  to  split 
enough  rails  to  fence  the  clearing.  He's  to  get 
one  yard  of  brown  jeans  dyed  with  white  walnut 
bark  for  every  four  hundred  rails.  It's  to  make 
some  new  breeches. ' ' 

"That's  an  awful  lot  of  work  for  a  pair  of 
pants." 

"Yes,  but  look  at  the  length  of  his  legs.    A 
36 


THE  RAILSPLITTER 

fellow  with  legs  like  that  will  always  have  to 
work  extra  to  keep  them  covered. ' ' 

1  (I  wanted  to  see  him." 

"He's  coming  back.  I  heard  him  telling  Pa 
he  was  going  to  open  a  store  here  for  a  man 
named  Offutt.  His  wares  haven't  come  yet.  They 
will  be  here  by  the  time  the  new  breeches  are 
ready.  Then  you  can  see  him.  You'll  think  him 
half -baboon  and  half -giraffe  and  he  won't  even 
notice  you  only  to  say  'Yes'm'  and  pull  off  his 
hat." 

"Does  he  have  any  name?  You  didn't  tell 
it." 

' '  Name  ?  O  yes, ' '  and  Nance  laughed.  ' '  He 's 
named  after  Abraham,  of  the  Abraham,  Isaac 
and  Jacob  family.  The  rest  of  his  name  is 
Lincoln. ' ' 

"Abraham  Lincoln,"  Ann  repeated.  "I 
don't  think  that's  such  a  bad  sounding  name." 

John  McNeil  called  at  the  Rutledge  home  the 
night  young  Lincoln  went  to  Turtle  Ford  to  earn 
his  new  pants.  After  the  family  had  gone  to  bed 
and  Ann  was  left  to  say  good-night  to  the  young 
man  she  was  engaged  to,  he  said,  "Ann,  I  thought 

that  fellow  was  captain  of  the  boat  and  maybe 

37 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

owned  some  of  the  cargo.  He's  nothing  but  a 
railsplitter. ' ' 

"He  didn't  use  his  hat  like  a  railsplitter." 

"He's  picked  up  a  few  lessons  in  manners 
somewhere — maybe  saw  somebody  doing  it  in 
New  Orleans." 

' '  No — because  it  was  on  his  way  down  that  he 
lifted  his  hat." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  where  he  got  it,  but 
he's  only  a  railsplitter  just  the  same.  Hasn't 
a  cent  in  the  world.  Didn't  know  it  was  a  rail- 
splitter  waving  to  you,  did  you?" 

'  *  It  wasn  't  me  he  waved  at.  He  never  heard 
of  me  and  don't  know  yet  that  I  am  living.  It 
was  the  flowers  he  liked  and  I'm  glad  he  likes 
flowers  if  he  is  a  railsplitter. ' ' 

"I'd  like  to  know,  Ann,  why  you  take  on  so 
over  flowers.  What  are  they  good  for  ? ' ' 

"Good  for?  What  a  funny  question.  What 
is  the  song  of  birds  good  for  and  the  fragrance 
of  flowers  and  the  beauty  of  ferns  f  What  is  the 
music  of  running  brooks  good  for  and  the  splen 
dor  of  gold  and  red  sunsets — what  are  any  of 
them  good  for?" 

"That's  just  what  I'm  asking,"  John 
McNeil  said  seriously.  "What  are  they  good 

38 


THE  RAILSPLITTER 

for?  Can't  eat  them,  can  you?  Can't  wear 
them,  can  you?  Can't  sell  them,  can  you? 
or  trade  them  or  swap  them  for  anything? 
Women  are  such  funny  folks  and  don't  know  a 
thing  about  values.  But  I'm  going  to  leave  the 
plum  thicket  another  year  and  the  corner  in  the 
pasture  where  the  blue  flowers  grow  you  like 
to  pick. ' ' 

* '  Thank  you,  John — thank  you  a  whole  lot ' ' ; 
and  happy  because  of  his  promise,  Ann  kissed 
John  McNeil  good-night. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   PILGRIM 

A  FEW  days  after  Abraham  Lincoln  had  en 
tered  service  to  split  rails  for  a  new  pair  of 
breeches,  he  came  to  town  late  one  afternoon  to 
get  an  ax. 

After  tarrying  a  short  time  to  tell  a  story  or 
two,  he  started  back  about  sun-down,  his  ax,  on 
the  handle  of  which  was  swung  a  bundle,  over 
his  shoulder. 

As  twilight  gathered,  the  ungainly  youth  took 
his  way  along  the  road  that  ran  not  far  from  the 
smoothly  flowing  Sangamon.  His  strides  were 
long  and  easy,  and,  away  from  the  small  habita 
tions  and  contrivances  of  mankind,  he  seemed  to 
become  one  with  the  big  things  of  nature,  and 
what  was  sometimes  considered  lack  of  grace 
seemed  now  an  easy  expression  of  reserve  force. 

The  roar  of  the  mill-dam  sounded  musical  as 
if  the  twilight  were  softening  its  daytime  bois 
terous  tumult. 

The  falling  dew  seemed  loosening  up  the 
fragrance  of  the  woods,  the  subtle  breath  of 
tangled  vines  and  trailing  roses,  with  sometimes 

40 


THE  PILGRIM 

a  more  decided  fragrance,  as  when  the  full-sized 
foot  of  the  pedestrian  brushed  into  a  bed  of 
wild  mint. 

As  he  rounded  the  skirt  of  the  bluff,  the  rosy 
tinted  sky  seemed  suddenly  to  withdraw  itself, 
and  the  timbers  upon  the  summit  to  move  them 
selves  slowly  against  the  crimson  and  fading 
gold,  like  a  row  of  shadowy  sentinels  gathered 
for  the  night. 

A  tinkling  gurgle  from  an  irregular,  dark 
spot  against  the  foot  of  the  bluff  told  of  a  ravine, 
and  the  running  stream,  whose  musical  babble, 
as  it  made  its  way  to  the  river,  sounded  like  the 
prattle  of  a  child  compared  to  the  river's  volume 
falling  by  the  mill. 

As  he  took  his  way  in  the  gathering  gray 
of  night,  the  long-limbed  youth  cast  giant 
shadows,  subtle,  indistinct  shadows  far  across 
the  road  and  into  other  shadows,  where  they 
merged  into  the  formless  gloom  and  were  lost. 

While  yet  rounding  the  bluff  he  heard  the 
barking  of  a  dog  and  then  the  tinkle  of  a  cow 
bell.  Common  sounds  these  were,  but  coming  on 
the  stillness  from  the  heights  above  they  lent  a 
sort  of  musical  enchantment  to  the  quiet  and  the 
enfolding  mystery  of  night.  Then  a  human  voice 

41 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

was  heard,  a  woman's  voice  that  seemed  to  burst 
suddenly  into  the  flower  of  a  full  blown  song. 

The  youth  slowed  up  a  bit  and  listened.  The 
words  thrown  out  by  the  ringing  voice  sounded 
clearly : 

I'm  a  pilgrim 

And  I'm  a  stranger; 

I  can  tarry,  I  can  tarry  but  a  night. 

The  young  man  stopped.  The  song  was  to 
him  unusual.  The  clear  voice  took  the  notes 
unhesitatingly  and  rolled  them  in  melodious 
movement  as  she  sang  the  words  "p-i-1-grim" 
and  '  *  s-t-r-a-n-ger, "  and  then  hurrying  on 
gladly,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  for  great  rejoicing 
that  she  could  tarry  but  a  night. 

The  youth  dropped  his  ax  and  bundle  to  the 
ground  and  turned  his  face  toward  the  bluff  cast 
ing  its  long  shadows.  The  bell  tinkled  a  moment 
in  the  gathering  gloom.  Then  the  voice  rang  out 
again  on  the  evening  hush : 

Do  not  detain  me, 

For  I  am  going 

To  where  the  streamlets  are  ever  flowing. 

Again  there  was  the  peculiar  rolling  fall  and 
rise  on  the  syllables.  Again  the  gladness  of  some 
exultation,  then  the  refrain  "I'm  a  pilgrim" 
with  its  confidence  and  its  melody. 

42 


THE  PILGRIM 

The  voice  was  nearer  now.  There  was  no 
sound  or  sight  of  any  moving  object  on  the  bluff, 
but  she  was  somewhere  there  and  seemed  com 
ing  nearer. 

The  tinkle  of  the  cow-bell  made  an  interlude. 
Then  again  the  voice  of  singing,  whether  nearer 
or  farther  now  he  did  not  question.  He  was  lis 
tening  to  the  words : 

Of  that  country 

To  which  I'm  going 

My  Redeemer,  my  Redeemer  is  the  light. 

There  is  no  sorrow 

Nor  any  sighing 

Nor  any  sin  there,  nor  any  dying. 

The  mysterious  singer  on  the  heights  was 
farther  away  now.  The  voice  was  growing 
fainter  as  the  refrain  rang  into  the  stillness, 
"Pm  a  pilgrim — and  I'm  a  stranger — I  can 
tarry — I  can  tarry " 

The  youth  leaned  forward  and  listened, 
breathlessly.  But  the  voice  was  dying  and  the 
tinkle  of  the  bell  came  on  the  stillness,  faint  as  a 
memory. 

After  standing  a  moment,  the  listener  in  the 
shadows  made  ready  to  go  on.  When  he  turned 
to  pick  up  his  ax  and  bundle,  he  found  his  hat  in 
his  hands.  When  he  had  removed  it  he  did  not 

43 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

remember.  Mechanically  he  placed  it  on  his 
head  and  started  on  his  way. 

The  red  and  purple  of  the  earlier  evening 
showing  through  the  trunks  of  the  trees  crown 
ing  the  bluff  was  giving  way  now  to  the  silvery 
green  of  the  rising  moon. 

With  his  ax  over  his  shoulder  the  figure 
paused  a  moment  for  a  last  look  upward  and 
then  moved  on. 

But  he  did  not  feel  the  same.  He  had  under 
gone  some  change.  "What  was  it?  Within  his 
breast  the  song  had  raised  something  intensely 
alive — something  like  hunger,  fierce  yet  very  ten 
der  ;  something  like  strange  pain ;  something  like 
wild  joy;  something  like  unsatisfied  longing, 
together  with  unmeasured  satisfaction.  What 
was  it?  He  did  not  know.  Mysterious  to  him 
as  was  the  singer,  was  now  the  effect  of  the 
singing. 

Yet  out  of  the  mingled  sensation  of  unrest 
and  satisfaction,  suddenly  stirred  into  life,  there 
came  to  the  youth  thoughts  of  his  mother. 

His  mother  had  been  a  pilgrim  on  a  journey. 
He  had  heard  her  say  so  many  times.  But  the 
burden  of  her  song  had  been  "Earth  is  a  desert 
drear."  He  had  heard  her  sometimes  try  to 

44 


THE  PILGRIM 

sing.  But  she  did  not  go  shouting.  She  suffered 
on  the  way,  endured,  was  patient,  and  at  the  last 
she  reached  a  groping  hand  for  something  strong 
to  hold  her  back  from  that  country  to  which  she 
believed  she  was  going.  It  was  with  a  twitching 
of  his  muscles  and  a  quiver  of  the  big  strong 
mouth  he  thought  of  the  passing  on  of  his 
mother. 

But  here  was  a  pilgrim  happy,  shouting,  even 
jubilant.  Who  was  she  ?  What  manner  of  per 
son  could  she  be?  His  curiosity  was  aroused. 

As  he  strode  on  toward  Turtle  Ford  the  fall 
ing  waters  of  the  dam  softened  their  roar  into 
an  indistinct  murmur,  and  then  like  the  voice 
of  the  singer  and  the  tinkle  of  the  bell,  blended 
into  the  quiet,  broken  only  by  the  call  of  a  whip- 
poor-will  or  the  whirr  of  a  bat's  wing. 

The  moon  rose  above  the  lacey  darkness  of  the 
timber-line.  The  railsplitter  had  had  no  supper. 
Once  he  stopped  and  gathered  some  berries. 
But  he  was  not  thinking  of  food.  The  eternal 
mystery  of  the  awakening  of  one's  other  self  had 
both  breathed  through  and  enfolded  him.  He 
was  not  hungry.  He  tossed  the  berries  down  by 
the  roadside.  His  pace  quickened  as  he  neared 
the  clearing.  He  did  not  understand,  but  for 
some  reason  he  himself  experienced  a  lifted-up 

45 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

sensation.  It  was  as  if  the  conquering1  confi 
dence  and  joy  of  the  unknown  singer  had.  been 
contagious. 

At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  he  stopped.  The 
shack  and  pig-pen  and  few  rail-fences  stood  out 
in  the  moonlight  like  the  skeleton  of  something 
to  be  clothed  with  a  body.  The  dogs  came  out 
and  barked,  but  crept  back  satisfied  at  sight  of 
the  tall  figure.  He  stepped  up  to  the  door  of  the 
shack.  The  snoring  of  a  man  told  him  his  ap 
proach  had  not  disturbed  the  sleeping  family. 

He  turned  toward  the  end  of  the  cabin  where 
a  ladder  stood,  which  he  mounted.  At  the  square 
opening  which  served  as  door  and  window  to 
the  loft,  he  paused  and  looked  in,  and  by  the 
moon's  indistinct  light  he  saw  the  three  boys 
of  the  family  lying  on  a  pallet.  The  dull  hum 
of  mosquitoes  sounded. 

He  turned  back  to  the  ladder,  and  on  its  top, 
with  his  back  resting  against  the  cabin,  he  sat 
and  looked  out  into  the  night.  In  the  light  all 
was  beautiful;  even  the  piles  of  brush  were 
softened  until  they  looked  like  the  gray  and 
silver  tendrils  of  giant  vines  piled  by  titanic  fair 
ies,  and  the  trunks  of  trees  were  columns  in  some 
mysterious  and  endless  cathedral  canopied  with 
silvered  green. 

46 


THE  PILGRIM 

Across  the  wilds  of  the  forest,  which  in  the 
magic  of  night  and  the  moon  were  so  beautiful, 
the  thoughts  of  the  youth  again  traveled  back 
to  his  childhood  and  its  mysteries,  and  he  seemed 
to  see  again  a  very  small  grave  in  a  lonesome 
spot  beside  which  his  mother  cried  and  declared 
with  tears  and  choking  voice  that  she  could  not 
go  away  and  leave  it  forever.  To  the  boy  who 
looked  on,  this  had  seemed  strange.  Why  should 
she  weep  because  she  could  not  take  a  grave  from 
Kentucky  to  Indiana,  the  new  home,  and  such  a 
tiny  little  grave  I  It  had  been  a  mystery.  Later 
he  came  to  answer  the  mystery  of  it  by  calling  it 
" mother  love."  He  thought  of  that  grave,  far 
away  in  Kentucky,  as  he  sat  on  the  ladder.  Then 
he  thought  of  the  grave  of  the  mother  who  had 
wept  beside  the  little  grave — two  graves. 

Some  time  he  too  would  fill  a  grave  some 
where — and  so  would  the  singer  on  the  heights. 
What  was  life  after  all?  Its  end  was  the  same 
for  all — whether  a  tiny  grave  or  one  long  enough 
even  for  him?  The  question  seemed  to  mock 
itself  and  laugh. 

Then  the  voice  of  the  singer  rang  clear  again 
— a  pilgrim  rejoicing,  shouting — such  a  glad  pil 
grim,  and  again  he  felt  himself  impelled  to  the 
heights  from  which  it  had  come — felt  himself  a 

47 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

creature  of  some  fresh-born  force  lie  could  no 
more  fathom  than  explain. 

A  wild  cat  screamed  down  the  creek.  The 
three  boys  thumped  the  floor,  seeking  in  their 
sleep  to  destroy  the  mosquitoes.  The  dogs 
scratched  under  the  house.  The  man  snored. 
Once  the  baby  cried  and  the  mother  soothed  it. 

These  voices  and  sounds  seemed  a  part  of 
the  secrets  of  the  night  and  of  the  strange  awak 
ening  that  possessed  him  with  the  pleasure  and 
pain  of  its  mystery. 

There  was  a  sound,  however,  that  came  with 
the  first  pink  of  the  morning  that  seemed  in  some 
unknown  way  to  hold  the  key  to  the  mystery  of 
his  strangely  aroused  hunger — a  hunger  born 
whether  for  good  or  ill  he  knew  not. 

With  the  first  stirring  of  life  at  the  new  day, 
a  song  bird  just  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing  sent 
out  its  call,  clear  as  the  voice  of  the  singer  on  the 
bluff  and,  in  the  imagination  of  the  inquiring 
youth,  like  it,  glad  and  unafraid. 

But  the  bird  was  calling  for  a  mate — one  of 
its  own  kind — one  which  would  answer  its  call. 

Again  the  call  rang  out  penetrating  and 
joyful. 

The  young  man  listened.  Then  a  smile  of 
satisfaction  lit  his  homely  face,  for  from  some- 

48 


THE  PILGRIM 

where  down  in  the  tangle  of  the  creek  banks,  one 
of  its  own  kind  was  answering  the  call. 

The  hidden  singer  in  the  clearing  called 
again,  even  throwing  more  life  and  gladness  into 
the  song.  Again  the  answer  came  from  the  un 
seen  one  of  like  kind,  a  little  closer  now.  They 
were  moving  toward  each  other.  The  silent  lis 
tener  had  not  made  a  study  of  birds.  Yet  now 
he  was  quite  sure  that  somewhere  they  would 
meet  in  the  wide  expanse  of  over-laced  branches 
and  would  mate. 

Again  his  mind  went  back  to  the  singer  of  the 
bluff — and  her  challenging  call.  Who  or  what 
manner  of  woman  was  she  ?  He  wondered. 

When  the  man  who  had  been  snoring  awoke 
with  the  first  streaks  of  day,  the  ringing  of  an 
ax  sounded  on  his  ear.  "If  he  don't  beat  any 
thing  to  bite  them  trees  down  and  eat  them  up, 
I'm  a  liar.  He  must  have  been  at  it  all  night." 

"He  needs  breeches — needs  them  powerful 
bad,"  his  wife  replied. 

"Must  want1  to  go  a  courtin',"  was  his 
comment. 

"Courtin'  or  no  courtin',  he'll  be  ketched  by 
the  sheriff  if  he  don't  git  some  new  breeches 
right  soon.  His  is  fixin'  to  leave  him.  I'm 
skeered  every  time  he  jumps  over  the  fence. ' ' 

4 


CHAPTER  V 

SWAPPING  BOSSES 

NOT  more  than  a  fortnight  after  Windy  Batts 
had  been  weighed  in  the  balance  by  the  Clary 
Grove  boys,  Mrs.  Mirandy  Benson  ran  over  to 
Rutledge's  to  discuss  a  few  news  items. 

Mrs.  Benson  was  Phoebe  Jane  Benson's 
mother.  Phoebe  Jane  Benson  had  never  been 
kissed  by  a  human  man — her  mother  the  author 
ity  for  the  statement.  "No  start,  no  finish," 
was  Mrs.  Benson's  oft-quoted  statement  as 
touching  the  delicate  question  of  the  preserva 
tion  of  female  virtue.  "For  this  reason,  Mis' 
Rutledge,  I  'm  dead  set  against  huggin '.  There 's 
never  no  tellin'  where  huggin'  will  end,  and 
Phoebe  Jane  shan't  get  no  opportunity." 

But  it  was  not  of  hugging  that  she  now  talked. 
"Mis'  Eutledge,"  she  said,  "Windy  Batts  has 
been  dipped  and  is  going  to  set  out  preachin'  for 
the  Hard  Shells  and  will  hold  a  meetin'  near 
New  Salem.  It's  set  to  his  credit,  I  say,  that 
he  chose  to  unite  with  the  Hard  Shells  instead  of 
the  Clary  Grove  gang.  Since  Windy  Batts  has 
been  keepin'  company  with  Phoebe  Jane,  I've 

60 


SWAPPING  HOSSES 

been  uncommon  interested.  He  has  a  powerful 
flow,  of  language,  and  will  make  a  famous 
exhorter." 

A  second  topic  of  conversation  was  the  tall 
clerk  who  was  in  charge  of  the  new  store  opened 
by  Offutt.  "He's  the  one  that  helped  Mentor 
Graham  election  day  and  has  been  chopping  rails 
since  on  Turtle  Ford. 

"Everybody  in  town's  been  in  the  store,  and 
the  men  hang  around  every  evenin'.  Phoebe 
Jane,  she's  been,  too.  He's  an  awful  friendly 
fellow,  scraped  up  a  speakin'  with  Phoebe  Jane 
and  asked  her  who  in  these  parts  could  sing. 
She  told  him  she  could  sing,  bass  or  tenor,  either 
he  liked.  Phoebe  Jane  was  quite  took  up  with 
him  and  wanted  to  ask  him  to  meetin'.  But  he's 
too  friendly.  These  friendly  young  fellows  must 
be  watched.  He  might  be  all  right.  Then  again 
he  mightn't,  and  if  he  should  take  a  huggin'  spell 
like  some  young  fellows  takes,  with  them  arms 
no  tellin'  what  might  happen.  I  told  Phoebe 
Jane  not  to  let  out  too  much  rope,  especially  since 
Windy  Batts  got  religion." 

It  was  true  the  new  clerk  at  Offutt 's  store  had 
inquired  who  about  New  Salem  could  sing.  Hav 
ing  been  unable  to  learn  anything  satisfactory 

51 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

from  the  girl  he  had  asked,  he  put  the  question 
to  several  men  who  chanced  to  be  in  the  store. 
The  only  result  of  his  questioning  was  to  bring 
out  a  story  about  a  girl  in  New  Salem  who  had 
a  "singin'  "  in  her  head  for  which  a  plaster  of 
"psalm  tunes,"  applied  to  the  feet  to  draw  the 
singing  down,  had  been  prescribed.  Unsatisfied, 
young  Lincoln  determined  to  keep  his  ears  open 
and  try  to  discover  for  himself. 

Meantime  there  were  many  to  get  acquainted 
with,  and  when  Bill  Clary  himself  invited  the 
new  man  to  the  Grove,  he  at  once  accepted  the 
invitation. 

Ole  Bar,  Buck  Thompson,  Jo  Kelsy  and  sev 
eral  others  had  gathered  early  and  were  discus 
sing  the  guest  that  was  to  arrive  shortly.  Buck 
Thompson  was  especially  interested.  He  was  in 
possession  of  a  horse  with  a  head  three  times  too 
large  and  legs  four  times  too  small  for  his  bony 
body.  Some  fatal  defect  in  the  horse  made  him, 
as  Buck  Thompson  confidently  told  the  crowd, 
"not  worth  a  chaw,"  and  this  horse  he  was 
going  to  try  to  swap  Lincoln,  '  *  sights  unseen.  * ' 

Speculation  has  just  started  as  to  the  out 
come  of  Buck's  horse-trade  when  Clary  and  the 

tall  stranger  arrived. 

52 


SWAPPING  HOSSES 

"His  name  is  Abe  Lincoln,"  Clary  advised. 

"  'Linkhorn'  is  what  they  called  me  over  in 
Indiana. ' ' 

"Paws,  Abry  Linkhorn,"  Ole  Bar  said,  ex 
tending  his  hand  and  casting  his  one  good  eye 
with  approval  on  the  stranger. 

The  few  brief  formalities  having  been  dis 
pensed  with,  the  group  settled  down  to  stories 
and  discussions,  Ole  Bar  leading  off  with  a 
graphic  description  of  many  of  the  wonders  of 
Arkansas,  and  its  riches  of  soil  and  abundance 
of  game.  '  *  There  was  one  feller  down  thar  had  a 
sow,"  he  declared  gravely.  "She  stole  an  ear 
of  corn  and  took  it  down  whar  she  slept  at  night. 
She  spilt  a  grain  or  two  on  the  ground,  and  then 
she  lay  on  them.  And,  gentlemen,  believe  it  or 
not,  before  morning  the  corn  shot  up,  pushed  on 
right  through  her  and  the  percussion  killed  her. 
Next  morning  she  was  found  flat  as  a  pancake 
and  three-inch  corn  sticking  like  green  har 
through  her  spotted  hide." 

"I  swear!"  exclaimed  Jo  Kelsy. 

'  *  Don 't  cuss ;  jes  go  down  to  that  country  and 
see, ' '  was  Ole  Bar 's  comment. 

"When  Abe  Lincoln's  time  came  he  was 
asked  for  the  lizard  story  he  had  told  at  the  store 

53 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

the  night  the  flat  boat  stuck  on  the  dam.  In  an 
inimitable  way  he  told  the  story,  joining  heartily 
with  the  others  in  the  boisterous  laughter  it 
called  forth,  but  neither  this  nor  any  other  of 
the  stories  told  diverted  the  mind  of  Buck 
Thompson  from  the  main  question,  this  being, 
"Is  he  as  green  as  he  looks?  Will  he  swap 
hosses!" 

11  Don't  happen  to  have  a  hoss  you  want  to 
trade,  do  ye  I"  Buck  at  last  indifferently 
questioned. 

The  interest  of  the  company  was  at  once  cen 
tered  on  the  answer. 

"Want  to  swap  hosses?"  Abe  Lincoln  asked 
good  naturedly. 

"Well,  I  dunno.  Do  you  happen  to  own  a 
hoss  of  any  kind  I ' ' 

"Yep, ' '  answered  the  visitor.  1 1  Such  as  it  is, 
I  own  a  hoss." 

An  expression  of  pleasure  showed  on  the  face 
of  Buck  Thompson. 

"What  sort  is  he?"  Buck  asked. 

"Who  said  it  was  a  'he'?" 

The  crowd  laughed. 

'  *  What  kind  is  she  ? ' '  Buck  corrected. 

"Well,"  answered  the  youth  as  if  weighing 

54 


SWAPPING  BOSSES 

the  matter,  "she  ain't  nothing  extra  on  looks, 
but  she  can  stand  up  under  as  much  hard  work 
as  any  hoss  in  these  parts." 

"How  old  is  she  I" 

' '  I  dunno  to  a  day — not  very  old. '  ' 

"Stand  without  hitchm'?" 

"  Never 's  been  hitched  to  anything  in  her 
life." 

"Saddle  hoss,  I  take  it.  Ain't  any  mustang 
is  it?" 

"Not  a  drop  of  mustang  in  the  critter,  I 
swear  it." 

"Ain't  blind  in  one  eye,  is  she?" 

"No." 

"How's  her  legs!" 

"Can't  lie  partner.    She's  stiff  in  the  legs." 

"Stiff  in  the  legs,  eh  I  How  about  her 
teeth?" 

' '  Haven 't  counted  them. '  ' 

"Ever  had  the  botts?" 

"Not  as  I  know  of." 

"Or  winded?" 

' '  Not  since  I  *ve  had  her. ' ' 

"Want  to  swap  hosses?"  Buck  asked. 

"What  you  got?'  Abe  Lincoln  asked  with 
interest. 

55 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

1 1 1  got  one  what  '11  stand  hitched.  I  'm  goin ' 
to  be  honest  as  you  and  tell  you  my  hoss  has  stiff 
legs.  Prom  what  I  git,  my  hoss  is  just  about 
such  a  hoss  as  your  hoss.  How '11  you  swap, 
sight  unseen?" 

Abe  Lincoln  aked  a  few  questions  which 
proved  beyond  a  doubt  to  Buck  Thompson  that 
the  lanky  youth  was  as  green  as  he  looked  on 
the  horse-trading  proposition,  and  he  was  de 
lighted  both  for  the  stakes  involved  and  the 
effect  of  his  deal  on  the  Clary  Grove  Boys,  when 
Abe  Lincoln  agreed  to  the  trade. 

"Where's  your  hoss  at?"  Buck  inquired. 

"Out  back  of  Offutt's  storte.  Where's 
yourn?" 

"He's  to  home — but  I'll  bring  him." 

* '  Any  rush  ? ' '  Lincoln  inquired.  ' l  Morning 's 
not  far  off. ' ' 

But  Buck  had  no  notion  of  taking  chances  on 
letting  the  horse-trader  consider  over  night.  He 
insisted  on  winding  up  the  trade  in  the  bright 
light  of  the  moon  in  front  of  Offutt  's  store.  The 
crowd  agreed  to  be  present,  and  immediately 
afterward,  with  singing  and  loud  talking,  the 
Clary  Grove  gang  took  their  way  to  New  Salem 
to  Offutt's  store.  Buck  Thompson  went  after 

56 


SWAPPING  BOSSES 

his  horse,  and  Abe  Lincoln  disappeared  in  the 
shadows  of  the  store  to  find  his. 

Buck  was  the  first  to  arrive.  Not  even  the 
moonlight  could  cast  any  redeeming  qualities 
on  the  beast  that  hobbled  after  him.  The  crowd 
looked  it  over  and  laughed  uproariously.  Buck 
grinned  with  satisfaction  at  the  sight-unseen 
trade  he  was  about  to  make  and  questioned  hadf 
fearfully  if  the  greenhorn  would  stand  by  his 
agreement. 

The  appearance  in  the  distance  of  a  tall  and 
shadowy  figure  approaching  with  long,  easy 
strides  was  not  reassuring.  Certainly  he  was 
neither  leading  nor  driving  a  horse.  The  com 
pany  looked.  As  he  came  nearer  they  saw  he 
carried  something.  Its  shadow  blended  with 
that  of  his  body. 

"He's  got  his  hoss  under  his  arm  or  on  his 
back, ' '  one  observed. 

Buck  was  looking  anxiously. 

"Bet  two  to  one  it's  a  goat,"  Jo  Kelsy  said. 

This  sounded  good  to  Buck.  ' '  Goat ! "  he  said 
with  evident  pleasure.  Then  they  looked  again. 
The  next  minute  he  cleared  the  last  lap  of  shadow 
and  came  into  the  light  in  the  open  space. 

There  was  a  moment  of  impressive  silence. 

57 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

' '  My  boss  is  this  kind — one  of  the  most  use 
ful  animals  in  this  neck  of  the  woods,"  and  he 
placed  a  saw-horse  before  them. 

There  was  a  moment  of  impressive  silence, 
then  the  angry  voice  of  Buck  Thompson. 

''You're  a  liar,"  he  cried,  greatly  angered 
by  the  roar  of  laughter  that  had  greeted  the 
speech. 

A  dead  hush  fell  on  the  company.  A  fight 
seemed  the  next  excitement.  Every  eye  was  on 
Lincoln. 

1 '  Don 't  get  riled  up, ' '  he  said  good  naturedly, 
"especially  after  I  told  you  I  was  tellin'  the 
truth.  Didn  't  I  tell  you  her  legs  was  stiff ! ' ' 

' '  Yeh, ' '  roared  Buck — ' '  and  you  told  me  she 
had  two  good  eyes — eh,  boys?"  and  he  turned 
to  the  crowd  standing  close  about. 

"Easy  now,"  Abe  Lincoln  remonstrated. 
1 '  I  didn  't  say  she  had  two  good  eyes.  You  asked 
if  she  was  blind  in  one  eye,  and  I  said  'No,  she 
ain't  blind  in  no  eye.'  " 

"You  said  she  had  all  her  teeth,"  Buck 
challenged. 

"Naw,  what  I  said  was,  'she  hasn't  never 
lost  no  teeth,  far  as  I  know.  *  Can  you  see  any 

place  where  they  have  come  out?" 

58 


SWAPPING  BOSSES 

Clearly  the  new  clerk  had  the  best  of  the 
trade.  Buck  Thompson  stood  to  his  bargain. 
The  horse  was  passed  to  Lincoln.  He  looked 
it  over.  Something  in  the  ungainly  figure  and 
the  big-headed  horse  brought  a  smile.  Yet  they 
waited.  "What  would  he  do  next — or  say? 

" Partner,"  he  said  to  Buck  after  the  exam 
ination,  "I  wouldn't  know  what  use  to  make  of 
this  here  critter.  I  can't  make  no  sight-unseen 
proposition,  but  I'd  give  you  two  bits  for  my 
own  hoss  back." 


CHAPTER  VI 


OFFUTT'S  new  store  under  the  management 
of  Abe  Lincoln  came  to  be,  almost  immediately, 
the  chief  point  of  interest  in  the  village. 

Business  was  never  so  rushing  that  the 
genial,  long-legged  new-comer  could  not  find  time 
for  a  friendly  greeting  or  a  new  story. 

Jo  Kelsy,  famed  as  the  best  Shakespeare 
scholar  New  Salem  boasted,  soon  discovered  a 
kindred  spirit  in  Abe  Lincoln,  and  was  de 
lighted  to  find  in  him  a  pupil  so  hungry  to  get 
acquainted  with  Bill  Shakespeare. 

Mentor  Graham,  the  Scotch  schoolmaster, 
dropped  into  the  store  because  he  soon  discov 
ered  that,  although  the  youth  who  had  assisted 
him  on  election  day  had  had  no  opportunity  of 
going  to  school,  he  was  far  more  advanced  in 
general  knowledge  than  any  pupil  in  his  school, 
and  the  fact  that  Abe  Lincoln  wanted  to  study 
grammar  with  him,  and  after  a  while  higher 
branches,  pleased  him. 

Even  Doctor  Allen,  the  busiest  and  most 
conscientious  Predestinarian  in  Sangamon 

60 


"FIXIN  FER  THE  ANGELS" 

County,  cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  the  Lin 
coln  youth,  and  he  soon  discovered  that  the 
uncommon  young  fellow,  who  seemed  to  be 
everybody's  friend,  was  not  given  to  social 
drink,  and  this  pleased  Doctor  Allen,  who  boldly 
preached  that  liquor  was  poison  and  stood  for 
its  total  abstinence. 

The  Clary  Grove  Boys  visited  the  store,  and 
when  several  of  them  happened  in  at  the  same 
time,  the  laughter  and  boisterous  talk  could  be 
heard  the  length  of  New  Salem. 

Ann  Eutledge  had  not  yet  been  at  the  new 
store.  She  had  heard  from  it,  however,  through 
her  brother  Davy,  two  years  younger  than  her 
self,  and  her  half -grown  sister,  known  as  "Sis 
Butledge, ' '  both  having  formed  the  acquaintance 
of  Abe  Lincoln  and  both  having  immediately  be 
come  his  staunch  admirers. 

Ole  Bar  was  in  the  store  one  afternoon  when 
Davy  came  in. 

"Davy,"  Abe  Lincoln  said,  "see  here";  and 
putting  three  long  fingers  gently  into  his  pocket 
he  drew  out  a  handful  of  tiny  rabbits.  "Their 
mother  got  killed.  I  put  the  poor  little  things 
in  my  pocket.  Know  anybody  that  will  take  care 
of  them?" 

61 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Ole  Bar  opened  his  good  eye  and  listened. 

' '  Sure,  Ann,  she  '11  do  it.  Ann  Eutledge  takes 
care  of  blind  cats,  lame  dogs,  lousy  calves,  birds 
with  broke  wings,  and  all  such  things.7' 

Abe  Lincoln  had  placed  the  rabbits  carefully 
in  his  hat  and  handed  it  to  Davy. 

"Want  them  back?"  the  boy  questioned  as 
he  turned  toward  the  door. 

"No — but  hurry  back  with  my  hat.  I'm 
goin'  out  with  Kelsy  while  he  fishes,  and  read 
about  a  Jew  who  wanted  a  pound  of  flesh. ' ' 

The  expression  on  Ole  Bar's  small  eye  was 
one  of  concentrated  disgust. 

"Men's  not  what  they  used  to  be,"  he  ob 
served,  chewing  violently. 

"I  reckon  not,"  Abe  Lincoln  observed. 

"These  times  they  wear  whiskers  on  their 
upper  lip,  and  breeches  buttoned  up  the  fore, 
but  I  don't  see  as  it's  give  them  any  more  wits." 

Abe  Lincoln  did  not  answer  this,  but  asked 
a  question. 

1 1  Who  sings  about  these  diggin  's  ?  It 's  some 
woman  who  has  a  way  of  her  own." 

"All  wimmin  sings ;  wimmin  birds  sings,  and 
wimmin  bull  frogs  sings,  and  human  wimmin 
sings.  But  whether  they  be  scaled  or  feathered 

62 


"FIXIN  FER  THE  ANGELS" 

or  diked  out  in  calico  and  combs,  their  singin' 
is  to  git  the  men  of  their  kind.  Take  the  advice 
of  Ole  Bar,  my  long-legged  son,  Abry  Linkhorn, 
and  let  all  wimmin  kind  alone.  Furthermore, 
don't  try  to  start  no  love-makin*  with  Ann  Rut- 
ledge  and  blame  it  onto  rabbits.  I've  heard  said 
Ann  Rutledge  can  outsing  a  bird.  If  she  can, 
it's  for  John  McNeil.  John  McNeil,  he's  worth 
ten  thousand  dollars — so  they  say.  Hain't  this 
worth  singin'  for?" 

"The  one  I'm  talking  about  wasn't  singin' 
for  any  man's  money." 

' '  How  do  you  know  ? ' ' 

"It  wasn't  that  kind  of  a  song." 

Ole  Bar  laughed.  * '  Sonny, ' '  he  said, '  *  you  're 
as  green  as  you  look.  But  why  don't  you  go  up 
to  the  meetin'  what  Windy  Batts's  started! 
All  the  singers  will  be  there.  Windy 's  trying  to 
scare  the  devil  out  of  his  own  den  by  his  fierce 
preachin'.  Last  night  he  called  the  whole  Clary 
Grove  tribe  by  name  and  told  them  the  devil 
was  goin'  to  pepper  them  with  burnin'  fiery 
sulphur  in  chunks  as  big  as  Rutledge 's  Mill  for 
ever  and  aye  unless  they  crawled  up  on  the  rock 
of  ages.  They'll  be  going  to  meetin '  theirselves 
right  soon,  and  if  he  don't  know  any  better  sense 

63 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

than  readin'  cusses  at  them  out  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures  and  pointin'  the  finger  of  scorn  at 
them  before  the  people,  they'll  learn  him  some. ' ' 

It  was  this  same  evening  Abe  Lincoln  decided 
to  go  to  Clary  Grove  in  search  of  Kelsy,  from 
whom  he  wanted  to  borrow  the  Shakespeare. 
The  Grove  Boys  were  in  council.  An  indigna 
tion  meeting  was  being  held.  Kit  Parsons  had 
just  been  quoting  Windy  Batts,  who  had  the 
night  before  consigned  those  Clary  Grove  sin 
ners  root  and  branch  to  burn  forever,  and  it 
had  been  just  about  decided  that  he,  and  the 
horse  he  had  purchased  to  start  on  an  itinerary 
after  his  New  Salem  meeting,  should  be  treated 
to  a  coat  of  tar  and  feathers. 

"That  deer-faced  hypocrit  tells  how  God 
sent  his  angels  to  git  Daniel  out  of  the  lion's 
den,  how  he  sent  angels  to  git  them  three  fool 
Jews  out  of  the  fiery  furnace.  He  says  them 
kind  of  angels  guard  the  Hard  Shells,  saves 
them  from  their  enemies  and  gits  them  out  of 
tight  places.  We're  needin'  some  angels  in  this 
section.  Let's  coax  them  down.  Let's  anoint 
this  belly-aching  coward  with  hot  tar  and  feath 
ers — both  him  and  his  horse,  till  we  make  him 
look  like  the  buzzard  he  is.  Then  we'll  set  by 

64 


"FIXIN  FER  THE  ANGELS" 

and  see  how  long  it  takes  them  angels  to  git  the 
feathers  picked  off." 

A  laugh  had  followed  this  speech.  It  was 
about  this  time  Abe  Lincoln  appeared. 

"Howdy!"  he  said  in  his  most  friendly 
manner. 

They  returned  his  greeting,  but  it  was  evident 
he  was  not  wanted.  They,  however,  asked  him 
for  a  suggestion  as  to  how  best  to  punish  "a 
moon-eyed  pole  cat  that  hain't  no  thin'  better  to 
do  than  stir  up  a  stink  about  hell  fire  and  brim 
stone,  and  call  out  the  names  of  them  picked  by 
the  devil  to  supply  the  roasts." 

"I  wouldn't  take  it  to  heart  about  his  fiery 
talk.  He  can't  hurt  Grod  with  his  spittin'  and 
sputterin',  and  so  long  as  God's  all  right  the 
rest  of  us  needn't  worry,"  Lincoln  said,  before 
answering  the  request  asked.  "As  to  punish  in ' 
a '  Moon-faced  pole  cat, '  I'd  plug  him  up  in  some 
tight  corner,  poke  sin  out  of  him — and  he'd  pun 
ish  hisself  gentlemen — punish  hisself." 

Abe  Lincoln  got  the  book  and  went  away. 
After  he  had  gone,  the  Clary  boys  put  their  heads 
together,  and  before  they*  had  separated  for  the 
night,  the  tar  and  feathers  plan  had  been  tem 
porarily  abandoned. 
5 


CHAPTEE  VII 

"sic  'EM,  KITTY " 

THE  afternoon  following  his  rather  unwel 
come  visit  to  Clary  Grove,  Abe  Lincoln  was 
invited  by  Kit  Parsons  to  attend  religious  serv 
ices  that  night.  From  the  manner  of  the  invi 
tation,  the  storekeeper  gathered  that  there  might 
be  something  interesting  on  foot,  and  he  decided 
to  go. 

Some  changes  had  been  made  in  the  meeting- 
place  since  the  gathering  of  the  year  before.  At 
the  former  time  Satan  had  moved  the  dogs,  so 
the  elder  explained,  to  crowd  under  the  exhor- 
ter's  stand  and  engage  in  riotous  disagreement. 
In  an  endeavor  to  chew  each  others  ears  and 
gnaw  holes  in  each  others  hides,  they  had 
bumped  their  backs  onto  the  rude  floor  under 
neath  the  preacher's  feet,  and  in  other  ways 
raised  a  disturbance. 

To  prevent  a  repetition  of  this  disorderly 
conduct  on  the  part  of  the  dogs,  the  hiding-place 
under  the  stand  had  been  made  proof  against 
all  intruders  by  the  use  of  stobs  driven  BO  close 
that  not  eren  a  shadow  could  creep  between. 

66 


"SIC  'EM,  KITTY" 

It  was  in  this  long-time  rendezvous  of  dogs 
that  a  couple  of  the  Clary  Grove  gang  seemed  in 
terested,  as  between  services  they  strolled  sev 
eral  times  past  the  pulpit  end  of  the  arbor. 

That  evening,  in  the  shadowy  gloom  cast  by 
the  arbor  roof,  a  couple  of  men  might  have  been 
seen,  had  the  dark  been  closely  scrutinized, 
moving  softly  about. 

Just  what  they  were  doing  was  not  apparent. 
They  seemed  to  have  a  barrel  close  by  and  a 
long  trough  of  some  kind. 

But  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  these  quiet 
two.  All  interest  was  centered  in  Windy  Batts, 
who  in  a  trumpet  voice  was  giving  out  the  words 
of,  a  song  which  all  who  knew  him  were  certain 
would  be  sung  with  great  unction  and  fervor. 

He  was  reading  the  lines  from  a  hymn-book. 
At  the  end  of  every  second  line  he  gave  the  pitch, 
whereupon  all  sang  in  many  keys,  but  with 
united  fervor. 

Into  a  world  of  ruffians  sent, 

I  walk  on  hostile  ground; 
While  human  bears,  on  slaughter  bent, 

And'  raving  wolves  surround. 

Between  each  two  lines  he  shouted,  ''God 
have  mercy  on  them  Clary  Grove  sinners !  Them 

67 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ravening  wolves!    Strike   them  human  bears 
down!" 

Then  the  hymn  went  on : 

The  lion  seeks  my  soul  to  slay, 

In  some  unguarded  hour; 
And  waits  to  tear  his  sleeping  prey, 

And,  watches  to  devour. 

"God  save  us  from  them  Clary  Grove  lions 
that  seek  to  devour. ' ' 

The  movements  in  the  shadows  just  outside 
the  arbor  continued,  but  nobody  noticed.  The 
exhorter,  calling  on  God  and  all  the  holy  angels 
to  witness  the  truth  of  his  sayings,  was  drawing 
a  graphic  comparison  between  the  righteous  and 
the  sinner,  especially  of  that  most  fallen  and 
hopeless  sinner,  the  Clary  Grove  sinner. 

After  the  discourse,  which  was  thundered  out 
with  tremendous  force,  the  first  altar-song  was 
announced, 

If  you  get  there  before  I  do, 
I'm  bound  for  the  land  of  Ca-na-yan; 

Look  out  for  me,  I'm  coming,  too, 

I'm  bound  for  the  land  of  Ca-na-yan; 

When  this  popular  song  got  well  underway, 
the  woods  for  miles  around  rang  with  the  re 
frain.  The  altar  filled  with  sinners  who  fell  in 
the  dust,  and  with  saints  who  whispered  in  their 

68 


"SIC  'EM,  KITTY" 

ears  full  directions  for  planting  their  feet  firmly 
on  the  old  ship  Zion,  and  with  shouters,  among 
whom  was  Phoebe  Jane  Benson. 

Ann  Butledge  and  Nance  Cameron  on  one 
side  of  the  arbor,  and  Abe  Lincoln  and  Jo  Kelsy 
on  the  other,  had  watched  Phoebe  Jane  taking 
her  combs  out  and  in  other  ways  preparing  for 
the  shouting.  Ann,  remembering  what  Mrs. 
Benson  had  said  about  hugging,  was  prepared  to 
watch  for  developments  as  Phoebe  Jane,  with 
arms  flying,  began  her  religious  exercise. 

When  the  mourners  were  prostrating  them 
selves  in  the  dust,  one  of  the  dark  figures  in  the 
shadowy  background  whispered,  "Tickle  her  up 
and  then  run";  and  as  he  reached  a  long  pole 
into  the  enclosure  under  the  exhorter's  feet  he 
said,  "Sic  'em,  kitty!"  and  the  two  were  off. 

Just  as  the  first  sinner  was  saved  and  the 
shoutersi  were  getting  well  warmed  up,  a  heavy 
and  most  unreligious  odor  suddenly  pervaded 
the  air. 

The  front  row  of  mourners,  with  their  faces 
in  the  dust,  nearest  the  exhorter  'a  stand,  noticed 
it  first  as  it  came  like  a  puff  from  the  infernal 
regions  just  pictured  by  Windy  Batts.  Lifting 
their  heads,  these  mourners  looked  about,  with 

69 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

facial  expressions  none  too  pious,  to  see  what 
had  smitten  them.  Next  the  shouters  got  the 
full  force  of  the  growing  odor.  Immediately 
their  shouts  turned  to  groans,  and  they  put  their 
hands  over  their  noses.  By  this  time  the 
mourners  were  on  their  feet.  This  sudden 
change  from  the  dust  of  humiliation  to  the  erect 
poise  of  saved  souls,  ordinarily  denoted  a  con 
version.  At  this  time,  however,  the  eye  of  sus 
picion  cast  on  every  man  by  every  other  man, 
together  with  the  sudden  and  violent  outbreak 
of  snorting  and  spewing,  gave  evidence  of  some 
thing  different  from  spiritual  birth. 

When  "Windy  Batts,  who  at  this  first  moment 
was  engaged  in  holding  Phoebe  Jane  in  the  close 
embrace  of  brotherly  love,  was  struck  by  the 
force  of  the  permeating  odor,  he  pushed  Phoebe 
Jane  from  him,  giving  her  a  look  both  question 
ing  and  unsanctified. 

A  moment,  and  he  understood.  Springing 
onto  his  high  platform,  he  cried  in  trumpet  tones, 
* '  The  devil  is  at  his  old  game !  A  burning,  fiery 
trial  is  about  to  test  our  faith.  Sometimes  afflic 
tions  come  like  lice,  mites,  boils,  fits.  But  the 
worst  has  been,  reserved  for  these  later  days,  and 
now  doth  God  afflict  his  people  with  a  skunk. 

70 


"SIC  'EM,  KITTY" 

Satan  abounds  on  every  hand.  The  most  eternal 
and  dingblasted  stink  ever  turned  loose  on  the 
sanctuary  of  the  Lord  is  now  in  our  midst. 
Let  a  committee  of  fearless  men  with  good  noses 
volunteer  to  locate  the  spot  where  this  varmint 
of  the  pit  is  hiding." 

The  source  of  the  odor  was  soon  located. 
About  this  time,  out  in  the  darkness  of  the 
woods,  was  heard  a  man's  voice  shouting: 

The  devil's  dead. 

Oh!   smell  hia  stink; 

Killed  by  the  power  of  Windy. 

Then  a  rooster  was  heard  crowing — the  crow 
repeating  the  words.  Then  a  cat  yowled — and  a 
dog  growled — and  a  goose  quacked,  all  sending 
out  the  same  message  about  the  devil's  death, 
and  the  manner  thereof. 

Here  was  insult  added  to  injury,  for  while  the 
exhorter  might  have  forgiven  God  and  the 
angels  for  the  horrible  ordeal  they  were  passing 
through,  he  could  never  forgive  the  Clary  Grove 
crowd. 

During  the  excitement  John  McNeil  had 
joined  Ann  E-utledge  and  Nance  Cameron. 

"It's  those  Clary  Grove  rowdies, 'r  John  Mc 
Neil  said.  "  They  're  a  bad  lot,  and  there  will 

71 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

be  murderers  in  the  bunch  if  they  do  not  change 
their  ways.  For  this  they  should  be  put  in  jail. ' ' 

"Windy  Baits  said  very  unkind  things  about 
them, ' '  Ann  observed. 

' '  And  didn  't  say  half  bad  enough.  I  'm  sorry 
Abe  Lincoln  joined  in  with  them.  He  was  in 
their  camp  last  night.  Like  as  not  he  hatched 
this  whole  plot." 

"I  can't  see  why  he  should  want  to  do  a 
thing  like  that,"  Ann  said. 

"You  don't?  Don't  you  know  the  whole 
Clary  Grove  gang  is  opposed  to  religion?  Do 
you  suppose  this  railsplitter  would  choose  their 
kind  if  he  wasn't  an  opposer,  too?" 

"But  he's  not  a  railsplitter  now — he's 
Offutt's  clerk." 

"He's  no  real  clerk  and  never  will  be.  Once 
a  railsplitter,  always  a  railsplitter." 

"Maybe  so,  but  even  then,  John,  it's  no  dis 
grace  to  be  an  honest  railsplitter — and  I'm  go 
ing  to  ask  Nance  if  he 's  an  opposer. ' ' 

"What  difference  does  it  make  to  you 
whether  he's  an  opposer  or  not?" 

"I  always  like  to  think  the  best  of  every 
body,  John,"  Ann  answered,  "and  it's  an  awful 
sin  to  be  an  opposer  of  religion." 


THE  TEST 

THE  Clary  Grove  gang  were  gathered  in 
council.  A  grave  matter  was  to  be  decided  and 
there  seemed  a  division  of  opinion  as  to  the  quali 
fications  of  Abe  Lincbln  for  becoming  a  mem 
ber  of  the  brotherhood.  Personally  no  man  had 
an  unfriendly  feeling.  In  fact  some  of  them 
liked  him.  But  there  were  certain  qualifications 
which  it  was  not  certain  he  possessed. 

The  horse-trade  with  Buck  was  discussed. 
Had  he  gotten  the  best  of  Buck?  Several  con 
tended  that  he  should  have  kept  the  horse  and 
would  have  done  so  had  he  not  been  afraid  of  the 
gang.  Others  were  of  the  opinion  that  he  did 
not  want  the  horse,  and  several  declared  him  a 
good  fellow  for  knowing  where  to  quit  joking. 

There  were  graver  considerations  than  this, 
however. 

"Ever  see  a  man  that  had  any  guts  totin' 
rabbits  around  in  his  pockets?"  Ole  Bar  ques 
tioned  sharply.  * '  I  seen  a  feller  once  that  packed 

a  couple  of  wild  cats  about  with  him— but  rabbits 

73 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

— rabbits — ' — "  and  language  failed  to  express 
Ms  disgust. 

"And  he  don't  drink  no  whiskey." 

'  'And  Jo  Kelsy  says  he  never  carries  a  gun. ' ' 

"Don't  never  go  gamin'?" 

"No,"  answered  Jo  Kelsy,  "he  ain't  never 
been  no  hunter." 

"Hain't  never  killed  nothin'f"  Ole  Bar 
questioned  in  amazement. 

"Not  just  fer  fun.  Once  he  killed  a  pant'er 
what  dropped  on  him  without  saying  nothin'. 
He  ketched  it  around  the  neck  and  choked  its 
eyes  out  and  skinned  it.  He  said  he  wouldn't 
have  bothered  it  if  it  hadn't  acted  so  nasty  and 
climbed  his  frame  without  warnin'." 

There  was  silence.  No  such  case  had  come 
up  for  discussion.  Here  was  a  young  giant  who 
could  strangle  a  panther — perhaps  a  bear.  Yet 
he  didn't  bother  them  if  they  let  him  alone,  and 
he  carried  new-born  rabbits  in  his  pocket,  and 
didn't  drink  whiskey. 

"Offiitt's  got  him  put  up  against  any  man  in 
Sangamon  County;  says  he  can  out-run,  out- 
wrestle,  out-throw,  out-whip  the  best  man  that 
can  be  put  up.  He 's  bragged  till  folks  has  forgot 
about  Jack  Armstrong  of  Clary  Grove." 

74 


THE  TEST 

The  eyes  of  the  company  turned  to  Jack 
Armstrong,  the  champion  wrestler  of  Sangamon 
County.  Built  square  as  an  ox,  his  mighty  mus 
cle  gave  the  suggestion  of  the  monarchy  of 
muscular  force.  Added  to  his  force  of  muscle 
was  unusual  quickness,  and  added  to  this,  as  the 
Clary  Grove  crowd  knew,  was  the  art  of  a  trick 
that  was  held  permissible  by  the  gang  as  a  last 
resort  in  holding  championship  of  the  county. 

"What  about  it,  Jack?"  Kit  Parsons  asked. 

"I'll  wrastle  him." 

"He's  different  from  anything  you've  gone 
up  against.  Jo  Kelsy  saw  him  lift  a  whiskey 
barrel  and  let  a  feller  drink  out  of  the  bung  hole 
one  day  when  he  was  in  the  store. ' ' 

"The  Lord's  truth,"  Jo  answered  solemnly. 

"And  Buck  Thompson  says  he  histed  a 
chicken  coop  that  weighed  five  or  six  hundred 
pounds  and  set  her  down  on  the  other  side  of 
the  yard,  nobody  lendin'  a  hand." 

"The  Lord's  truth,"  Buck  answered. 

"And  Ole  Bar  says  they  was  having  some 
sort  of  a  contest  down  at  the  mill  when  he  first 
come  here — some  sort  of  a  stone-moving  tussle 
— and  Abe  Lincoln  let  them  strap  him  like  a  hoss 

and  moved  a  thousand  pounds.   Hey,  Ole  Bar? ' ' 

75 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"I  ain't  sayin'  nothin',  only  I  seen  it  done." 

"I  can  whip  any  man  on  Sangamon  River." 
It  was  Armstrong  who  spoke. 

This  was  final  and  gave  great  satisfaction. 
The  crowd  shook  hands  with  the  champion,  and 
one  of  the  number  was  appointed  to  bear  the  chal 
lenge  to  Abe  Lincoln,  early  the  next  morning. 

When  the  young  clerk  was  approached  on 
the  matter  of  the  fight  he  declined.  "What's 
the  use  of  this  wooly-rousin',  anyhow?  I 
never  did  see  no  sense  in  tuslin'  and  cuffin'. 
Grown-up  men  might  be  in  better  business." 

But  Offutt,  satisfied  that  he  could  win  the  con 
test  urged  him  on,  and  as  there  seemed  nothing 
else  to  do,  Lincoln  accepted,  and  the  day  was  set. 

The  news  spread  over  town  and  around  the 
country.  Jack  Armstrong  the  long-time  cham 
pion  was  to!  meet  the  giant  youth  known  as  flat- 
boat  Abe,  the  railsplitter. 

Early  in  the  game  Offutt  and  Bill  Clary  bet 
ten  dollars  on  their  respective  men.  Lesser  lights 
bet  whiskey,  knives,  tobacco,  and  even  caps  and 
coats.  The  better  element  entered  no  protest, 
and  the  Clary  Grove  kind  from  Wolf  Creek 
openly  exulted. 

During  the  growing  interest  Lincoln  seemed 

76 


THE  TEST 

to  pay  no  attention  to  the  matter  nor  cared  to 
discuss  it.  He  said  he  had  a  good  feeling  for 
the  whole  bunch  and  believed  his  antagonist  to  be 
a  brave  and  square  wrestler. 

' '  Clear  the  street  of  weak  things, ' '  Bill  Clary 
had  advised,  the  morning  of  the  match,  which 
was  taken  to  mean  that  there  might  be  a  gang 
fight  instead  of  a  wrestling  match. 

Even  before  the  appointed  hour  the  town 
was  out  and  lined  up  opposite  Offutt's  store. 
Doctor  Allen,  who  had  formed  a  warm  friend 
ship  for  the  young  clerk  and  who  was  opposed 
to  fighting,  was  there.  The  school-teacher  was 
there;  Clary  Grove  to  a  man  was  present  with 
several  from  Wolf  Creek.  John  Eutledge  and 
Cameron  stopped  by  to  look  on.  The  women 
folks  were  on  hand,  for  here  wras  something  that 
promised  to  be  as  interesting  as  a  shouting 
match  at  a  camp-meeting.  And  the  girls  were 
there,  Nance  Cameron,  Ann  Rutledge,  Phoebe 
Jane  Benson  and  Ellen  Green,  keyed  up  with  the 
excitement  that  comes  to  the  young  female  of 
any  species  when  the  males  of  like  kind  give  an 
exhibition  of  primitive  strength.  Nor  did  John 
McNeil  remain  away.  He  even  stood  by  a  Clary 
Grove  leader  to  see  the  show. 

77 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Many  glances  were  cast  at  the  store  inside 
of  which  Abe  Lincoln  was  seen  talking  to  a 
crowd,  and  laughing  as  good  naturedly  as  if  the 
whole  town  were  not  feverishly  waiting  for  him 
to  come  out  and  face  the  broad-shouldered,  ironr 
muscled  man,  who  as  calmly  awaited  the  event, 
surrounded  by  his  friends  under  a  tree  near  the 
side  of  the  store. 

At  the  appointed  time  Abe  Lincoln  came 
slowly  out  and  took  his  way  in  an  unhurried 
sort  of  a  shamble  across  to  the  side  of  the  store. 
Seeing  him,  Jack  Armstrong  emerged  from  his 
friends.  The  tall  youth  extended  his  hand  and 
shook  in  a  friendly  grasp.  Then  he  pulled  off 
his  hat  and  pitched  it  aside,  opened  his  shirt  and 
turned  it  back,  hitched  up  his  breeches,  tossed 
back  his  mop  of  black  hair,  and  the  wrestle  was  on. 

A  cheer  went  up  as  they  went  the  first  round. 

Armstrong  had  entered  the  contest  with  the 
determination  of  a  speedy  finish.  He  knew  the 
art.  It  was  evident  from  the  beginning  that 
Lincoln  was  not  a  skilled  wrestler.  Indeed  he 
seemed  only  defending  himself,  which  he  did 
so  easily  that  he  was  not  given  full  credit  for  it. 

Armstrong  gave  him  some  blows.  They  might 

as  well  have  fallen  on  a  steel  trap.    Lincoln 

78 


THE  TEST 

gave  no  hard  blows;  evidently  his  intention 
was  not  to  inflict  harm.  Through  the  early  por 
tion  of  the  wrestle  he  was  entirely  good-natured. 
But  not  so  with  Armstrong.  He  was  working 
hard.  He  was  not  making  progress.  His 
backers  and  friends  were  urging  him  on,  while 
cheers  sounded  each  time  his  wily  antagonist 
escaped  what  seemed  to  be  a  well-directed, 
sledge-hammer  blow. 

When  the  contest  had  been  on  some  minutes 
it  became  apparent  to  the  crowd  and  to  Arm 
strong  that  he  must  use  different  tactics,  or 
the  wily,  good-natured  Abe  Lincoln  would  keep 
him  fighting  for  a  week. 

Armstrong  now  undertook  his  trick. 

The  moment  he  did  so  the  eager  crowd  saw 
an  instantaneous  change  in  the  young  giant. 

The  good-natured  expression  on  his  face  was 
swept  aside  by  a  wave  of  such  anger  as  trans 
formed  him  from  a  citizen  into  a  fighter.  The 
mild  and  friendly  light  in  his  gray  eye  made 
way  for  a  fire  that  gave  it  a  strange,  shining 
appearance.  The  slight  stoop  of  the  body  dis 
appeared  and  the  tall  figure  towered  high  and 
tense,  for  a  passing  instant.  Then  he  threw  out 
his  powerful  arm  and  just  as  his  antagonist 

79 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

hoped  to  take  him  from  his  feet,  he  felt  his  neck 
caught  in  the  grasp  of  something  as  unrelenting 
as  a  steel  trap.  Tighter  the  powerful  fingers 
wrapped  about  his  neck.  He  felt  himself  forced 
away  from  the  man  he  would  defeat  by  trickery. 

It  was  done  in  a  moment.  The  crowd  saw 
Abe  Lincoln  holding  Jack  Armstrong  at  arm's 
length  and  shaking  him  as  a  cat  would  shake  a 
kitten,  as  he  shouted  in  white  wrath  ' '  Play  fair, 
will  ye?  If  you  win,  win.  If  you  lose,  lose — 
but  do  it  like  a  man!  Play  fair,  will  ye?"  and 
again  he  shook  him  as  if  in  an  effort  to  shake 
the  words  from  him. 

For  a  moment  there  was  an  ominous  silence. 

"He's  a  bar!  He's  a  bar!"  shouted  Ole 
Bar.  Whatever  this  meant  was  uncertain.  The 
gang  closed  in.  They  seemed  coming  to  the 
rescue  of  their  champion. 

With  the  breath  half -choked  out  of  him,  Arm 
strong  felt  himself  pulled  along.  Abe  Lincoln 
backed  against  the  store  wall-  He  released 
Armstrong,  shouting,  "I'm  ready!  I'll  meet 
anybody  in  a  fair  tussle,  but  no  tricks  go  with 
Abe  Lincoln!" 

Again  there  was  a  moment  of  silence.  The 
gang  looked  at  Armstrong,  then  the  crowd 

80 


THE  TEST 

cheered.  The  gang  fell  back.  The  next  mo 
ment  something  unexpected  happened.  Jack 
Armstrong  approached,  held  out  his  hand  and, 
turning  to  the  crowd,  said,  "Boys,  Abe  Lincoln's 
the  best  fellow  that  ever  broke  into  this  gang. ' ' 

The  white  anger  faded  from  the  face  of  the 
tall  giant  as  quickly  as  it  had  come.  The  fire 
passed  from  his  eyes.  His  homely  face  was  lit 
by  a  kindly  smile.  He  hitched  up  his  trousers 
and  pushed  back  his  hair.  Then  with  his  hand 
warmly  grasped  around  that  of  Armstrong  he 
said,  "Hand-shakes  are  better  than  cuffin's.  It 's 
friends  we  are." 

A  shout  went  up,  the  women  shouting  with  the 
men.  Among  those  who  cheered  most  heartily 
was  the  group  of  girls  with  whom  Ann  Eutledge 
stood.  So  interested  had  she  been  in  the  climax 
of  the  contest  she  had  not  noticed  that  John 
McNeil  had  moved  to  a  place  beside  her.  She  did 
not  know  it  until,  in  the  midst  of  her  most  en 
thusiastic  hand-clapping,  she  turned  and  met  his 
eye.  Her  face  was  bright  with  pleasure  at  the 
outcome.  She  was  laughing  and  cheering.  When 
she  met  his  eye  she  knew  he  was  not  pleased. 

"I  told  you  he'd  be  one  of  the  gang1,"  Mc 
Neil  said. 

6  81 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

' '  But  he  plays  fair. ' ' 

"I  never  could  understand  why  women  and 
girls  like  the  fighting  kind,  the  rowdy  kind — the 
kind  that  has  roustabout  ways,  and  that  has  no 
business,  and  opposes  religion/' 

"But  are  you  sure  he  opposes  religion?" 

"These  fighting  roustabouts  generally  do. 
Now  don't  get  mixed.  I'm  not  saying  Abe  Lin 
coln's  not  a  good  fellow.  He's  good  enough  of 
his  kind,  and  I  like  him.  But  for  women  and 
girls  that's  religious,  he  wouldn't  be  my  kind." 

"I'm  going  to  find  out  if  he  opposes  relig 
ion,"  Ann  said. 

"Going  over  to  the  store  to  see  him?"  John 
questioned. 

"No;  I  would  so  like  to  talk  with  him  just 
once.  But  I  won 't  because ' ' 

' '  Why  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  her. 

"Because,  John,  some  way  I  feel  you  would 
not  like  it.  I'm  promised  to  you,  and  I  play 
fair." 

He  made  no  answer,  but  some  way  Ann  felt 
that  her  statement  was  not  altogether  satis 
factory  to  John  McNeil. 


CHAPTER  IX 

)TJ  SHALT  NOT  CCT 

THE  wrestling  match,  that  proved  the  cham 
pionship  of  Sangamon  River,  established  Abe 
Lincoln  with  his  love  of  peace  and  his  unlimited 
reserve  of  physical  power  to  enforce  it,  as  the 
peacemaker  of  New  Salem. 

The  following  day  John  Rutledge  called  at 
the  store. 

John  Rutledge,  with  his  partner  Cameron, 
was  the  founder  of  New  Salem.  Some  few  years 
before,  he  had  come  from  Kentucky  with  his 
family,  bought  a  farm  a  few  miles  to  the  west, 
built  a  mill  at  New  Salem,  and  opened  a  store 
and  a  tavern. 

Within  a  year,  ten  log  houses  had  been  added 
to  the  original  two.  A  cobbler  and  a  blacksmith 
had  shops.  Then  a  few  more  houses  were  built, 
and  a  cooper  mill  where  crude  barrels  and  kegs 
were  made. 

John  Rutledge,  a  descendant  of  the  famous 
Rutledge  family  of  the  Carolinas,  possessed  the 
manly  qualities  of  his  ancestors  in  full  measure, 
and  pioneer  life  had  by  no  means  obliterated 

83 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

those  instincts  which  make  generous  friends  and 
progressive  citizens. 

Mr.  Rutledge  was  also  a  firm  believer  in  edu 
cation  as  the  foundation  for  the  future  greatness 
of  the  new  Western  country  as  well  as  the  suc 
cess  of  the  individual,  and  it  was  largely  due  to 
his  efforts  that  the  Scotch  schoolmaster,  Mentor 
Graham,  was  among  the  first  settlers. 

John  Eutledge  had  been  into  the  new  store 
before  to  look  around.  Once  he  had  tarried  to 
hear  a  story.  But  he  was  a  busy  man  and  had 
as  yet  formed  no  special  acquaintance  with  the 
much-discussed  Abe  Lincoln. 

This  visit  was  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
acquainted.  After  Eutledge  had  warmly  con 
gratulated  the  ungainly  clerk,  on  his  insistence 
on  fair  play,  they  sat  down  to  talk,  and  the  con 
versation  turned  to  a  discussion  of  the  widely 
renowned  circuit-rider,  Peter  Cartwright,  who 
was  expected  to  hold  a  wonderf  ul  meeting  in  the 
vicinity  of  Springfield  during  the  month  of 
September. 

Abe  Lincoln  had  heard  of  Peter  Cartwright, 
the  eccentric  Methodist  exhorter,  who  was  born  in 
a  Kentucky  cane-brake  and  rocked  in  a  bee-gum 
cradle,  and  could  tell  many  stories  about  him. 

84 


/'THOU  SHALT  NOT  COVET" 

The  outcome  of  this  short  visit  was  an  invi 
tation  to  the  clerk  to  visit  at  Eutledge  Inn  and 
tell  some  of  the  Cartwright  stories. 

Eutledge  Inn  was  the  largest  building  in 
the  town  except  the  mill.  None  of  the  other 
homes  had  more  than  two  rooms,  some  only  one. 
Eutledge  Inn  had  four  rooms  and  a  sort  of  porch 
made  by  an  extension  of  roof  over  a  hardly 
packed,  cleanly  swept,  dirt  floor.  It  was  here 
Mentor  Graham,  Doctor  Allen,  John  Eutledge, 
William  Green  and  other  of  the  intelligent  citi 
zens  gathered  to  discuss  news,  matters  of  edu 
cation,  religion  and  politics. 

Quite  pleased  with  his  invitation,  Abe  Lin 
coln  went  to  the  Inn  and  found  in  addition  to  the 
family,  Mentor  Graham  and  Doctor  Allen. 

It  was  a  night  in  late  August.  The  stars 
twinkled  above  the  dark  outlines  of  the  trees 
that  crested  the  bluff.  The  one  road  of  New 
Salem,  that  wound  its  way  down  the  hill,  lay  like 
a  gray  ribbon  and  log  houses  made  the  darker 
spots  that  at  irregular  intervals  marked  it. 
Occasionally  the  call  of  a  night  bird  sent  ripples 
of  wave-melody  onto  the  stillness,  or  sometimes 
the  tinkle  of  a  bell  stirred  the  ocean  of  the  night 
silence,  while  the  fall  of  the  dam  water  sent  out 

its  rhythm  in  never-ending  cadences. 

85 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

The  discussion  turned  to  religion,  a  most 
fruitful  topic  of  argument,  for  Mentor  Graham 
was  a  Hard  Shell  and  Doctor  Allen  was  a  Pre- 
destinarian.  This  night  there  was  the  uncom 
mon  Abe  Lincoln  to  be  heard  from.  Stories 
of  Peter  Cartwright  were  first  on  the  program, 
and  from  these  the  conversation  turned  to  a  dis 
cussion  of  religion  in  particular  and  its  uses 
to  mankind. 

"One  of  the  best  uses  of  religion, "  Dr.  Allen 
said,  "is  to  cast  out  fear.  Medicine  won't  work 
when  fear  is  present  and  there's  been  many  a 
man  scared  to  death.  I  was  called  out  once  to 
see  a  child  who  had  been  bitten  by  a  rattlesnake. 
She  died  and  her  father  nearly  lost  his  mind. 
Later  he  got  bit  in  the  night  by  something — a 
spider,  I  think.  He  was  sure  it  was  a  rattle 
snake.  There  was  no  need  of  the  man  dying, 
but  he  did  die — actually  frightened  to  death. 
It's  an  awful  condition  for  a  soul  to  be  in  that 
fears  eternal  punishment  for  sin.  Religion  takes 
away  this  fear." 

"Just  what  is  religion?"  asked  Abe  Lincoln. 
"From  what  I've  been  able  to  gather,  it's 
preachin'  purgatory  and  damnation  till  you  get 
up  a  panic,  offerin'  the  mercy  of  God  as  a  way 

of  escape,  and  then  takin'  up  a  collection  for  the 

86 


"THOU  SHALT  NOT  COVET" 

good  advice  you  have  given — is  this  religion?'* 

The  men  laughed. 

"I  may  be  off,"  Lincoln  continued,  "but 
looks  to  me  like  there  wouldn't  be  so  much  need 
of  gettin'  the  fear  out  of  folks  if  the  fear  of 
hell  wasn't  first  preached  into  them." 

" Don't  you  believe  in  hell!  "  Mentor  Graham 
asked. 

"Can't  say  I  do." 

"But  you  believe  in  God,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes — only  a  fool  has  said  in  his  heart  there 
is  no  God." 

"But  the  same  authority  that  teaches  God 
teaches  hell, ' '  Doctor  Allen  said. 

"Not  to  my  way  of  thinking  it  don't,"  Lin 
coln  answered.  * ' '  The  heavens  declare  the  glory 
of  God  and  the  firmament  shows  his  handiwork, ' 
the  Book  tells  me.  But  I  can't  see  how  the 
heavens  declare  the  glory  of  hell  nor  its  necessity 
either." 

"But  how  can  God  punish  the  unrighteous 
without  a  hell  1  Can 't  you  see  that  by  taking  hell 
out  of  the  Bible  you  destroy  its  value  as  an  in 
spired  book,  and  where  else  can  one  learn  of 
God?" 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  heavens  and  the 
stars  ?  And  then  there  are  other  things,  too.  that 

87 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

tell  of  God  besides  the  Bible.  Did  you  ever 
watch  a  dirt-dauber?  Know  how  they  work,  do 
you?  Builds  his  nest  and  puts  in  his  egg.  The 
young  one  is  not  goin'  to  get  out  until  it  can 
fly,  so  it  must  have  food.  The  parent  goes  in 
search.  Here  comes  a  worm.  Good  food  and 
enough  to  last  until  the  young  dauber  is  ready 
to  wing  its  way.  But  there  is  a  difficulty.  If 
the  dauber  kills  the  worm  and  puts  it  in,  it  will 
be  rotten  as  Heck  before  the  young  is  ready  to 
get  out.  What  happens  ?  The  dauber  sticks  its 
stinger  into  a  certain  spot  where  it  paralyzes 
the  worm — knocks  him  out,  so  to  speak,  with 
out  killin'  him.  Then  he  puts  him  in  the  cell 
with  the  young,  seals  him  and  leaves.  What  I 
say  is — where  does  the  mud-dauber  get  his 
knowledge  ?  Who  told,  him  to  deaden  that  food 
without  killin'  it?  Who  shows  him,  or  her, 
just  the  right  point  to  stick  in  that  sting!  To 
me  it  has  always  seemed  that  any  Creator  that 
can  plan  this  way  has  more  than  horse-sense. 
But  to  make  folks  like  the  Book  says,  in  his  own 
likeness  and  image,  and  then  get  mad  at  them 
and  roast  them  alive  a  million  or  so  years  cause 
they  can't  swallow  Hard  Shell  religion  or  gulp 
down  Predestinarianism,  looks  like  God  hain't 
planned  things  as  well  as  a  mud-dauber.  Maybe 

88 


"THOU  SHALT  NOT  COVET" 

I'm  lackin'  myself,  but  I  got  to  turn  loose  of 
God  or  hell  one,  and  for  my  purpose  I'm  choosin' 
to  hang  on  to  God,  and  I  somehow  got  a  feelin' 
He 's  not  goin '  back  on  me.  Twouldn  't  be  fair — 
and  God  plays  fair,  gentlemen — God  plays  fair. ' ' 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  John 
Eutledge  said,  "Davy,  get  a  jug  from  the  cellar. 
Sis,  bring  the  water  pitcher,  glasses  and  sugar." 

As  the  boy  and  girl  arose  Lincoln  turned 
slightly.  He  had  not  noticed  before  that  the 
daughter  of  the  house  had  joined  the  group. 

As  he  saw  her  now  in  the  semi-darkness  she 
looked  like  some  fair  creature  of  another  world. 
He  had  heard  that  Ann  Eutledge  was  the  pret 
tiest  girl  in  town.  She  had  passed  his  store  and 
been  pointed  out  to  him.  He  had  been  told  she 
was  engaged  to  marry  John  McNeil  who  was 
the  most  settled  young  fellow  in  town  and  al 
ready  worth  ten  thousand  dollars.  But  neither 
of  these  news  items  had  interested  him  suffi 
ciently  to  take  his  attention  from  the  story  he 
had  happened  to  be  telling  or  hearing  when  she 
had  passed. 

As  his  eyes  turned  toward  her,  he  saw  she 
was  leaning  forward  as  if  not  to  lose  a  word, 

and  gazing  at  him  intently. 

89 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He  changed  the  glance  of  his  eye  to  give  her 
a  chance  to  look  another  way.  Then  he  turned 
his  glance  on  her  again.  As  he  did  so  there  came 
to  him  a  revelation.  Here  was  the  pilgrim.  How 
did  he  know  it?  He  conld  not  tell,  yet,  as 
surely  as  she  sat  there  in  the  dim  light,  as  surely 
as  his  eyes  were  resting  on  her  golden  head  and 
fair  face,  he  knew  it. 

Mentor  Graham  and  Doctor  Allen  had 
launched  a  spirited  discussion  on  baptism.  Abe 
Lincoln  did  not  join  them.  He  turned  his  eyes 
again  toward  the  girl.  In  the  half-light  he 
could  not  see  the  expression  of  her  face,  but  her 
face  was  turned  toward  him  and  he  was  con 
scious  she  was  thinking  of  him.  She  turned 
away  as  if  embarrassed,  but  no  sooner  had  he 
shifted  than  the  dark  eyes  again  turned  toward 
the  heroic  figure,  a  figure  like  a  bronze,  the  pro 
file  of  his  face  half-Eoman  and  half -Indian.  His 
head  rested  on  a  neck  of  cords  and  muscle  which 
stood  straight  out  from  a  turn-down  collar. 

As  irrestible  as  the  pole  draws  the  magnet, 
the  glances  of  the  two  were  drawn  toward  each 
other  again,  and  in  the  dark  each  felt  the  meet 
ing  of  this  glance.  Then  Ann  Eutledge  got  up 
and  went  away. 

90 


"THOU  SHALT  NOT  COVET" 

Abe  Lincoln  thought  of  the  bird  he  had  heard 
the  night  he  sat  on  the  ladder — the  night  the 
voice  had  called  to  him  from  the  heights.  He 
smiled. 

The  next  morning  Abe  Lincoln  was  at  the 
store  early,  waiting  to  see  McNeil  pass.  When 
he  had  heard  half  a  dozen  times  before  that  Ann 
Butledge  was  engaged  to  marry  McNeil,  the 
words  had  been  as  idle  gossip.  Nor  had  he  given 
McNeil  any  special  attention.  Now  all  was  dif 
ferent.  With  keen  eye  and  feverish  desire  he 
waited  to  pass  judgment. 

As  the  young  man  passed,  the  watching  Lin 
coln  felt  himself  moved  by  some  tremendous  im 
pulse  of  destruction,  a  destruction  that  would 
annihilate  this  man  from  the  face  of  the  earth  as 
'  completely  as  though  he  had  never  existed. 

As  he  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  rude  fron 
tier  store,  no  Sinaitic  thunder  roared  its  dis 
approval  of  this  primitive  animal  impulse.  But 
he  heard,  instead,  the  gentle  voice  of  a  woman 
who  had  long  lain  sleeping  under  the  tangle  of  a 
forsaken  wildwood — a  voice  that  had  read  to  him 
from  an  open  book  by  the  light  of  a  pine  torch 
fire,  "Thou  shalt  not  covet. " 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIG 

ONE  day  a  poverty-stricken  and  dispirited 
woman,  whom  Abe  Lincoln  had  not  before  seen, 
entered  his  store  to  buy  a  few  candles  and  a 
small  quantity  of  molasses. 

As  she  went  out  the  storekeeper  was  informed 
that  she  was  the  wife  of  a  notorious  drunkard, 
known  throughout  the  settlement  as  ' '  Snoutful 
Kelly,'*  who  lived  in  a  miserable  shack  out  near 
Muddy  Point. 

After  the  woman  had  gone,  in  casting  up  his 
accounts,  Abe  Lincoln  found  himself  with  a  few 
pennies  more  than  he  should  have,  and,  after 
puzzling  over  the  small  excess,  he  discovered 
that  he  had  overcharged  the  wife  of  Snoutful 
Kelly. 

Though  it  was  yet  early,  he  closed  the  store 
and  at  once  set  out  toward  Muddy  Point  to 
return  the  woman's  change. 

The  shack  he  found  the  family  living  in  was 
not  the  worst  he  had  ever  seen,  and  he  himself 
had  once  lived  in  one  nearly  as  bad.  He  had  not 
expected,  however,  to  find  such  a  home  near  the 
thrifty  settlement  of  New  Salem. 

92 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIG 

The  hearth  was  of  dirt  with  a  hole  in  the  mid 
dle  made  by  much  sweeping.  There  was  a  pun 
cheon  table  with  forked  sticks  for  legs,  and 
wooden  trenchers  for  plates.  Sharp  pieces  of 
cane  were  used  for  forks ;  there  was  one  knife 
without  a  handle,  and  one  tin  cup  for  the  use 
oif  the  entire  family.  In  one  corner;  was  a 
pallet  of  leaves  on  a  post  frame  with  a  thin  quilt 
over  it 

When  Abe  Lincoln  entered  the  one  room  he 
found  the  mother  bending  over  the  hearth,  and 
a  small  girl,  with  a  black  eye,  trying  to  quiet  a 
dirty  baby  which  kicked  on  the  post  bed. 

At  a  first  glance  Lincoln  saw  that  the  woman 
was  in  trouble,  and,  while  she  thanked  him  in  a 
crude  way  for  the  return  of  the  pennies  and 
took  them  eagerly,  her  mind  was  thus  only  par 
tially  diverted  from  the  trouble. 

Hungry  for  pity,  and  led  to  believe  she  might 
get  it  from  this  tall  youth  who  had  come  so  far 
to  return  her  change,  the  woman  poured  out  her 
tale  of  woe. 

Her  pig  was  gone — her  only  pig — the  pig 
which  the  children  had  divided  food  with  that 
they  might  have  a  bit  of  meat  for  the  winter. 
Her  husband  would  not  fix  the  pen  and  the  pig 

93 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

had  escaped  and  gone  some  days  before.  The 
bitter  loss  was  too  much  for  the  poor  woman, 
and  she  broke  down  and)  wept. 

Moved  with  pity,  Abe  Lincoln  asked  what 
kind  of  a  pig  it  was. 

"Black,  with  a  white  spot  on  its  left  shank, 
and  a  white  eye,  and  its  ear  was  fresh  cut  with 
two  slits  and  a  cross  mark — like  this, ' '  and  bend 
ing  over  the  hearth  she  made  some  marks  in  the 
ashes  which  Lincoln  looked  at  carefully.  "I 
suppose  some  wolf  or  cat  smelled  the  blood,  cause 
nobody  would  steal  a  pig  in  these  parts,  would 
they?"  and  there  was  appeal  in  her  voice  as  she 
asked  the  question. 

Further  discussion  about  the  pig  was  cut  off 
by  a  screech  from  the  child,  whose  face  suddenly 
took  on  an  expression  of  great  fear,  while  her 
eyes  seemed  fixed  in  horror  on  something  she 
saw  coming  toward  the  house. 

Abe  Lincoln  glanced  out. 

"It's  her  Pap  coming,"  the  woman  ex 
plained.  "He  beat  her  somethin'  fearful  yes 
terday  cause  she  got  in  the  mud.  And  he  told 
her  he'd  throw  her  in  up  to  her  neck  to-day  if 
she  got  in  the  mud,  and  let  her  stick  there  till 
the  buzzards  eat  'er  up.  And  how  is  the  poor 

94 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIG 

child  to  help  it  when  her  Pap  has  brought  her 
here  where  there  ain't  nothing  but  mud  to  fall 
in?"  Then,  turning  to  the  child,  she  said: 
"  'Tain't  no  use  to  have  fits.  Nobody  but  God 
can  keep  him  from  gittin'  ye." 

"Nobody  but  God,  eh?"  Abe  Lincoln  said. 
"We'll  see." 

The  man  came  staggering  toward  the  house, 
cursing  and  growling,  his  drunken  wrath  seem 
ing  to  centre  itself  on  the  child  whose  face  was 
transfixed  with  terror. 

The  child  screamed  just  as  he  was  about  to 
enter  the  house  to  make  good  his  threats.  Then 
there  suddenly  pounced  upon  him,  from  just  in 
side,  something  that  caught  him  in  a  grip  like 
that  of  a  vise,  and  pulled  him  back  outside.  And 
then  this  something,  which  was  a  very  tall  youth, 
began  shaking  him  and  slowly  making  his  way, 
as  he  did  so,  toward  the  creek. 

As  a  result  of  the  none  too  gentle  shaking, 
the  liquid  matter  the  drunkard  had  imbibed  be 
gan  to  return  to  the  world  of  visible  things  until 
what  seemed  an  endless  amount  had  been  emp 
tied  along  the  way  they  were  taking.  When  the 
burden  of  liquor  had  been  lightened,  the  drunk 
ard,  now  chattering  for  pity,  was  ducked  in  the 

95 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

stream  until  his  dripping  chin  was  washed  clean, 
and  his  thick  tongue  limbered  up. 

He  was  then  marched  back  to  the  cabin  door 
from  which  the  wife,  and  child  with  a  black  eye, 
looked  out  in  speechless  wonder. 

1 1  Here  you  are  now, ' '  said  the  tall  man.  ' '  My 
name  is  Abe  Lincoln.  I  keep  store  in  town.  I 
can  get  here  in  twenty  minutes  any  time  I'm 
needed  to  break  up  this  child-beatin' — under 
stand?"  and  he  was  off. 

It  was  that  same  night  Abe  Lincoln  dropped 
down  to  Clary 's  Grove,  where  he  was  now  always 
welcome.  When  he  arrived  he  found  a  feast  in 
course  of  preparation.  A  pig  was  roasting  in 
the  fire  and  the  savory  odor  permeated  the  air 
as  different  ones  of  the  gang  poked  the  fire, 
basted  the  roast,  and  otherwise  prepared  for  the 
occasion. 

"  Just  in  time,  my  son,  Abry  Linkhorn,"  said 
OleBar. 

" Where 'd  you  get  that  pig?"  Lincoln  in 
quired. 

"It  lit  in  a  tree  and  we  clubbed  it  out  and 
picked  it.  'Tain't  none  too  fat,  but  it  '11  do. ' ' 

"Let  me  look  at  its  ears,"  Lincoln  said. 

96 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIG 

"Two  slits  and  a  cross"  he  observed.  Then  he 
told  the  story  of  Snoutful  Kelly 's  wife  and  her 
great  grief  at  the  loss  of  the  pig. 

There  was  a  moment  of  impressive  silence. 
Then  one  of  the  gang  said:  "Clary's  Grove  has 
done  some  things  that  hain't  been  written  in  no 
book,  but  they  don't  steal  from  no  weepin'  wim- 
min,  and  beat  up  hungry  children.  As  good  a 
pig  must  be  put  back  in  that  pen  as  was  ever 
caught  in  the  woods  by  the  wolves  and  cats. ' ' 

This  speech  expressed  the  sentiment  of  the 
company,  and  a  game  was  played  to  see  who 
would  replace  the  pig.  When  this  had  been 
decided  they  returned  to  their  feast  with  con 
sciences  apparently  as  clear  as  those  of  children. 

It  was  the  second  day  following  the  feast  by 
the  Clary  Grove  Boys,  that  Ann  Butledge  missed 
one  of  her  pigs.  Arm  was  not  only  a  famous 
needle  woman,  a  spinner,  and  a  cook,  but  she 
had  good  luck  raising  pigs  and  chickens,  and  her 
father  gave  her  a  pig  or  two  in  each  litter,  which 
were  to  be  her  own  to  help  in  getting  her 
education. 

Now  her  pig  was  gone — a  black  one  with  a 
white  spot  on  its  flank. 
7  97 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Mounted  on  one  of  John  Rutledge 's  good 
horses,  Ann  set  out  to  search  the  woods  for  her 

Pig- 
She  had  gotten  some  distance  without  find 
ing  any  trace  of  it,  when  she  heard  the  cry  of  a 
child.  Following  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  came,  she  soon  discovered  a  forlorn  little 
specimen  of  a  girl,  with  a  black  and  purple  eye, 
who  was  looking  about  in  different  directions  as 
if  not  knowing  which  way  to  go,  and  was  crying. 
"What'si  the  matter?"  asked  Ann  Rutledge, 
"are  you  lost?" 

"Yes,"  the  child  answered, 
"Who  are  you — and  where  do  you  live!" 
"I'm   Katy  Kelly,   and  I  live   at   Muddy 
Point.      Our  pig  is  lost  again,"  she  sobbed. 
"We  got  it  home  once,  but  the  pen  broke,  and 
now  it's  gone  again." 

"I'm  looking  for  a  pig,  too,"  Ann  said. 
1 '  Get  up  on  my  horse,  and  we'll  look  a  little  and 
then  I  '11  take  you  home. ' ' 

The  child  climbed  on,  and  the  search  con 
tinued.  But  the  child  no  longer  had  eyes  for 
anything  but  Ann  Rutledge. 

"How  did  you  hurt  your  eye  "  Ann  asked 
kindly. 

98 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIG 

"Pap,  he  did  it.  He  bunged  me  with  his  fist. 
He  said  he'd  git  me  again  the  same  way,  and 
stick  me  in  the  mud  till  the  buzzards  picked  my 
eyes  out.  I  was  scared  to  death.  It's  horrible 
to  get  bunged  and  beat.  I  begged  Maw  to  keep 
Pap  from  beatin'  me  again,  but  he  beats  her, 
too,  and  she  said  nobody  but  God  could  keep  him 
from  beatin'  me  up.  Just  as  he  was  about  to 
git  me,  here  comes  God  with  the  longest  legs  on 
earth,  and  he  reached  out  his  long  arms  an'  got 
Pap  and  shook  all  the  red  eye  out  of  him  he's 
poured  in  f  er  a  year.  Then  he  ducked  him  until 
he  got  sobered  up.  Mam  says  Pap  won't  beat  me 
no  more,  she'll  bet  on  it,  'cause  God — He  can  git 
anywhere  on  them  legs,  in  twenty  minutes. ' ' 

This  story  was  told  between  snubs  and  sobs, 
and  the  dirty  dress  sleeve  was  called  into  use 
between  sentences  to  dry  the  tearful  eyes  and 
dripping  nose. 

Ann  Eutledge  was  interested. 

"So  God  came  to  help  you?" 

"Yep — his  name  is  Abe  Lincoln — he  told 
Pap." 

"Abe  Lincoln!"  Ann  exclaimed.  Then  she 
rode  a  long  way  without  speaking.  She  was 
thinking.  The  name  brought  the  picture  of  a 

99 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

strong,  elemental  man,  seemingly  older  than  his 
years,  a  man  who  had  said  he  was  going  to  play 
fair  with  God,  a  man  whom  Nance  Cameron 
had  pronounced  the  homeliest  creature  that  God 
ever  put  breath  in. 

"There's  home,"  the  child  presently  said, 
"and,  there's  the  pig." 

Ann,  looked.  A  small  black  pig  with  a  white 
spot  on  its  flank.  She  knew  the  pig. 

But  when  she  dismounted  to  examine  the  pig 
she  found  its  ear  cut  with  two  slits  and  a  cross. 

"We  found  it  in  the  pen.  At  first  I  couldn't 
believe  it,"  Mrs.  Kelly  exclaimed.  "It  looked 
a  bit  fatter  than  mine,  but  it's  ear  was  fresh 
marked ;  I  cut  it  myself.  And  I  thanked  God  it 
had  come  back. ' ' 

"You  thanked  God,"  Ann  observed  as  if  to 
herself. 

"Yes — for  it's  our  only  winter  meat.  And 
when  it  got  out  again  I  was  sick  over  it — and 
likely  it  will  get  away  some  more,  for  Kelly 
never  fixed  a  pen  that  would  hold,  in  his  life. ' ' 

"  I  '11  help  you  fix  the  pen, ' '  Ann  said,  and  she 
did,  meantime  wondering  about  the  pig,  for  she 
would  have  sworn  it  was  her  own. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PETER  CARTWRIGHT  ARRIVES 

IT  WAS  on  a  September  day  that  the  famous 
Peter  Cartwright  jogged  into  New  Salem  on  a 
stiff-legged  pony,  and  drew  up  before  Rutledge 
Inn. 

His  visit  had  been  long  expected  and  great 
preparations  had  been  made  for  the  camp-meet 
ing  which  was  to  be  held  in  the  Springfield  dis 
trict  in  a  few  days. 

No  announcement  had  been  made  of  the  time 
Peter  Cartwright  would  arrive,  yet  in  that  mys 
terious  way  that  news  spreads  over  a  small  town, 
even  while  he  was  yet  removing  the  saddle  bags 
from  his  tired  pony,  sightseers  had  congregated 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  before 
sundown  everybody  in  town  knew  that  the  great 
preacher  was  stopping  for  the  night  at  Rutledge 
Inn. 

Abe  Lincoln  had  been  invited  to  the  Inn, 
with  the  select  few  who  often  made  the  little 
party,  to  meet  Eev.  Peter  Cartwright.  They  met 
a  rather  small,  wiry  man  with  bright  fox-like 
eyes,  and  hair  inclined  to  be  curly,  which  stood 
out  in  every  direction  on  a  round  head. 

101 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He  talked  freely,  criticizing  in  no  unmeas 
ured  terms  such  preachers  as  preach  not  against 
slavery,  dram  drinking,  dancing,  or  the  putting 
on  of  costly  apparel  and  jewelry.  Then  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  small,  bright  eye,  he  said  that 
his  risibilities  were  often  hard  to  keep  down 
owing  to  some  things  that  happened  as  he  trav 
eled  his  circuit,  and  he;  told  them  an  incident : 

"I  rode  one  day  into  Springfield  to  transact 
a  little  business.  My  horse  had  at  one  time  been 
an  excellent  pony,  but  now  had  the  stiff  com 
plaint.  I  stopped  for  a  few  moments  into  a 
store  to  purchase  a  few  articles,  and  I  saw  in  the 
store  a  young  lady  in  company  with  two  young 
men;  we  were  perfect  strangers;  they  soon 
passed  out  and  rode  off.  After  transacting  my 
business  I  left  the  store,  mounted  my  stiff  pony, 
and  set  out  for  home.  After  riding  some  dis 
tance,  I  saw  just  ahead  of  me  a  two-horse  wagon, 
with  the  cover  rolled  up.  It  was  warm  weather, 
and  I  saw  in  the  wagon  those  two  young  men 
and  the  young  lady  that  I  had  seen  in  the  store. 
As  I  drew  near  them  they  began  to  sing  one 
of  our  camp-meeting1  songs,  and  they  appeared 
to  sing  with  great  animation.  Presently  the 

young  lady  began  to  shout,  and  said  'Glory 

102 


PETER  CARTWRIGHT  ARRIVES 

to  God !  Glory  to  God ! '  The  driver  cried  out 
'Amen,  Glory  to  God!' 

"My  first  impressions  were  that  they  had 
been  across  the  Sangamon  River  to  a  camp-meet 
ing  that  I  knew  was  in  progress  there,  and  had 
obtained  religion,  and  were  happy.  As  I  drew 
a  little  nearer,  the  young  lady  began  to  sing  and 
shout  again.  The  young  man  who  was  not  driv 
ing  fell  down  and  cried  aloud  for  mercy;  the 
other  two  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  voices, 
cried  out, ' Glory  to  God !  another  sinner's  down. ' 
Then  they  began  to  exhort  the  young  man  that 
was  down,  saying,  'Pray  on,  brother;  pray  on, 
brother;  you  will  soon  get  religion';  and  up 
jumped  the  young  man  that  was  down,  shouting 
aloud,  saying, '  God  has  blessed  my  soul.  Halle 
lujah!  Hallelujah!  Glory  to  God!' 

"Thinking  all  was  right,  I  felt  like  riding  up 
and  joining  in  the  songs  of  triumph  and  shouts 
of  joy  that  rose  from  these  three  happy  persons ; 
but,  as  I  neared  the  wagon,  I  saw  them  cast 
glances  at  each  other  and  at  me,  and  I  suspected 
then  that  they  were  making  a  mock  of  religious 
things,  and,  knowing  me  to  be  a  preacher,  wished 
to  fool  me.  I  stopped  my  horse  and  fell  back, 
and  rode  slowly,  thinking  they  would  ride  on, 

103 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

and  so  not  annoy  me  any  more;  but  when  I 
checked  my  horse  and  went  slow,  they  slackened 
their  pace  and  went  slow  too,  and  the  driver 
changed  places  with  the  other  young  man ;  then 
they  began  again  to  sing  and  shout  at  a  furious 
rate  and  down  fell  the  first  driver,  and  up  went  a 
new  shout  of  *  Glory  to  God!  another  sinner's 
down.  Pray  on,  brother;  pray  on,  brother;  the 
Lord  will  bless  you.  '  Presently  up  sprang  the 
driver,  saying,  '  Glory  to  God !  He  has  blessed 
me.r  And  both  the  others  shouted  and  said, 
'Another  sinner's  converted,  another  sinner's 
converted.  Hallelujah!  Glory  to  God!"  A 
rush  of  indignant  feeling  came  all  over  me,  and 
I  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  ride  up  and  horsewhip 
both  of  these  rowdies,  and  if  a  lady  had  not  been 
present  I  might  have  done  so,  but,  as  it  was,  I 
did  not.  It  was  a  vexatious  encounter;  if  my 
horse  had  been  fleet,  as  in  former  days,  I  could 
have  rode  right  off  and  left  them  in  their  glory, 
but  he  was  stiff,  and  when  I  would  fall  back  and 
go  slow,  they  would  check  up ;  and  when  I  would 
spur  my  stiff  pony  and  try  to  get  ahead  of  them 
they  would  crack  the  whip  and  keep  ahead  of 
me;  and  thus  they  tormented  me  until  my  pa 
tience  was  entirely  exhausted.  They  kept  up  a 


PETER  CARTWRIGHT  AEHIVES 

continual  roar  of  'Another  sinner's  down!  An 
other  soul's  converted!  Glory  to  God!  Pray 
on,  brother!  Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!  Glory  to 
GodP  and  I  felt  it  was  more  than  any  good 
minister  ought  to  bear. 

"I  cannot  describe  my  feelings  at  this  time. 
It  seemed  that  I  was  delivered  over  to  be  tor 
mented  by  the  devil  and  his  imps.  Just  at  this 
moment  I  thought  of  a  terrible  mud-hole  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead.  It  was  a  long  one 
and  very  deep  mud,  and  many  teams  had  stuck 
in  it,  and  had  to  be  pried  out.  Near  the  center 
of  this  mud-hole  there  was  a  place  of  mud  deeper 
than  anywhere  else.  On  the  right  stood  a  stump 
about  two  feet  high;  all  the  wagons  had  to  be 
driven  close  to  this  stump  so  as  to  avoid  a  deep 
rut  on  the  left,  where  many  wagons  had  stuck. 
I  knew  where  there  was  a  small  bridle  way  that 
wound  round  through  the  brush  to  avoid  the 
mud,  and  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that,  when 
we  came  up  to  this  muddy  place,  I  would  take 
the  bridle  way,  and  put  my  horse  at  the  top  of 
his  speed  and  by  so  doing  get  away  from  these 
miserable  tormebitors,  as  I  knew  they  could 
not  drive  fast  through  this  long  plot  of  mud. 
When  we  drove  near  to  the  commencement  of  the 

105 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

mud  I  took  the  bridle  path,  and  put  spurs  and 
whip  to  my  horse.  Perceiving  that  I  was  rapidly 
leaving  them  in  the  rear,  their  driver  cracked 
his  whip,  and  put  his  horses  at  almost  full  speed, 
and  such  was  their  anxiety  to  keep  up  with  me 
to  carry  out  their  sport  that,  when  they  came 
to  this  bad  place,  they  never  saw  the  stump  on 
the  right.  The  fore  wheel  of  the  wagon  struck 
centrally  on  the  stump,  and  as  the  wheel  mounted 
the  stump  over  went  the  wagon.  Fearing  it 
would  turn  entirely  over  and  catch  them  under, 
the  two  young  men  took  a  leap  into  the  mud,  and 
when  they  lighted  they  sunk  up  to  their  middle. 
The  young  lady  was  dressed  in  white,  and  as 
the  wagon  went  over,  she  sprang  as  far  as  she 
could,  and  lighted  on  all  fours ;  her  hands  sunk 
into  the  mud  up  to  her  armpits,  her  mouth  and 
the  whole  of  her  face  immersed  in  the  muddy 
water,  and  she  certainly  would  have  strangled  if 
the  young  man  had  not  relieved  her.  I  rode  up  to 
the  edge  of  the  mud,  stopped  my  horse,  reared  in 
my  stirrups  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice : 

"  'Glory  to  God!  Glory  to  God!  Hallelu 
jah!  another  sinner's  down!  Glory  to  God! 
Hallelujah!  Glory!  Hallelujah!' 

"If  ever  youngsters  felt  mean  those  did  j  and 

106 


PETER  CARTWRIGHT  ARRIVES 

well  they  might,  for  they  had  carried  on  all  this 
sport  to  make  light  of  religion,  and  to  insult  a 
minister,  a  total  stranger  to  them.  But  they 
contemned  religion,  and  hated  Methodists,  espe 
cially  Methodist  preachers. 

"When  I  became  tired  of  shouting  over  them, 
I  said  to  them:  'Now  you  poor,  dirty,  mean  sin 
ners,  take  this  as  a  just  judgment  of  God  upon 
you  for  your  meanness,  and  repent  of  your 
dreadful  wickedness ;  and  let  this  be  the  last  time 
that  you  attempt  to  insult  a  preacher ;  for  if  you 
repeat  your  abominable  sport  and  persecutions, 
the  next  time  God  will  serve  you  worse,  and  the 
devil  will  get  you. ' 

' '  They  felt  so  badly  that  they  never  uttered 
one  word  of  reply.  Now  I  was  very  glad  that  I 
did  not  horsewhip  them,  as  I  felt  like  doing; 
but  that  God  had  avenged  His  own  cause,  and 
defended  His  own  honor  without  my  doing  it 
with  carnal  weapons.  Later,  at  one  of  my  pros 
perous  camp-meetings,  I  had  the  great  pleasure 
to  see  all  three  of  these  young  people  converted 
to  God,  and  I  took  them  into  the  Methodist 
Church."* 

Cartwright's    mission    was    not,    however, 

*  From  "Autobiography  of  Peter  Cartwright." 
107 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

story-telling,  as  was  soon  made  evident.  *  *  Time 
is  bearing  on  us,"  he  said,  "  toward  the  Judg 
ment.  Are  we  prepared  ?  This  is  the  question — 
it  is  the  one  great  question.  Brethren  and  sis 
ters,  is  every  soul  here  prepared  to  meet  his 
God?  Let  me  see."  There  was  a  general  indi 
cation  that  those  present  were.  Abe  Lincoln 
did  not  signify  readiness.  "We  are  going  to 
pray,"  Cartwright  said,  "and  you,  my  young 
friend, ' '  addressing  him, ' '  should  humble  your 
self  and  call  to  God  for  deliverance  from  hell, 
for  surely  the  enemy  of  man's  soul  is  on  his 
track,  and  damnation  is  the  eternal  punishment 
of  the  unsaved.  Fear  hell  and  flee  to  God.  > ' 

"But  I  don't  fear  hell,"  Abe  Lincoln  said 
comfortably. 

"Don't  fear  hell?"  and  there  was  both  con 
demnation  and  surprise  in  Cartwright 's  tone  as 
he  repeated  the  words.  "By  such  unbelief  you 
question  the  existence  of  God." 

"No — I  don't  question  the  existence  of  God, 
but  I  would  if  I  believed  eternal  damnation. 
You  see,  parson,  you  and  me  don't  measure  God 
by  the  same  yardstick." 

"But  to  doubt  hell  is  to  doubt  God.    The 

same  inspired  book  is  the  authority  for  both. " 

108 


PETER  CARTWRIGHT  ARRIVES 

"For  some,  maybe,  but  not  for  others.  Old 
Snoutful  Kelly  brought  a  child  into  the  world 
without  never  once  askin'  her  whether  she 
wanted  to  come  or  not.  Then  he  moved  her  to 
Muddy  Point  where  there  was  no  thin'  but  mud, 
without  askin'  her  if  she  wanted  to  go.  Then 
he  told  her  to  keep  out  of  the  mud,  and  when 
she  couldn't  he  gave  her  a  black  eye.  Hav 
ing  knocked  her  blind,  he  told  her  if  she  got 
into  the  mud  again  he'd  'souse  her  in  a  mud- 
hole  to  her  ears  and  leave  her  there  for  the  buz 
zards  to  pick  her  eyes  out. '  Now  you  say  God 
brings  us  here  children  into  this  world  without 
askin'  nothin'  about  it,  where  there's  devilment 
ail  about  us,  and  we  didn't  put  that  here,  either. 
Then  you  have  God  give  us  a  black  eye  with  this 
original  sin  you  preach  about,  which  makes  us  sin 
whether  we  want  to  or  not,  and  when  He  gets 
us  He  promises  hell  fire  and  eternal  damnation 
for  gettin'  into  sin.  This  here  don't  sound  like 
God  to  me.  It  sounds  like  Snoutful  Kelly. ' ' 

The  silence  that  followed  this}  statement  was 
the  kind  that  seems  reduced  to  pound-weight. 
Cartwright  stared  at  the  presumptuous  youth 
who  had  uttered  such  words.  When  he  could 
speak,  he  said :  * '  Coming  from  the  lips  of  a  worm 

109 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

of  the  dust,  I  should  call  such  sacrilege — nothing 
short  of  blasphemy. ' ' 

''Might  be  true  if  I  counted  myself  among 
worms,  but  I  don't — I  may  look  like  a  worm, 
Brother  Cartwright,  or  a  pair  of  worms,  or  even 
four  worms  of  the  dust  tied  together,  but  I 
haven't  none  of  that  wormy  feelin'  you  hint  at, 
and  I  don't  take  stock  in  wormy  religion.  The 
Good  Book  is  full  of  more  upliftin'  texts  than 
the  wormy  ones.  I'd  forget  about  hell  fire  and 
worms  of  the  dust  for  a  while  if  I  was  a 
preacher. ' ' 

"What  would  you  preach,  Abe?"  Mentor 
Graham  asked. 

"Want  to  know,  do  you?" 

"Yes — yes,"  the  answer  was  given  by  both 
Butledge  and  Doctor  Allen. 

Lincoln  arose.  For  a  moment  he  seemed 
slouchy,  bent,  and  ill  at  ease.  Then  he  straight 
ened  up  and  announced  his  text, ' '  'Beloved,  now 
are  ye  the  sons  of  God,  and  it  does  not  yet  appear 
what  we  shall  be.*  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  wonderful  change  came  over 
him.  His  face  lit  up,  his  gestures  grew  natural 
and  strong,  his  voice,  thin-sounding  at  first,  took 

on  melody,  his  ill-fitting  clothing  was  forgotten. 

no 


PETER  CARTWRIGHT  ARRIVES 

He  seemed  for  the  moment  lifted  away  from  Ms 
surroundings,  and  those  listening  were  lifted 
with  him. 

As  he  reached  the  end  of  his  brief  speech  and 
declared,  "  'And  every  man  that  hath  this  hope 
in  him,  purifieth  himself,'  "  he  was  measuring 
up  to  some  far  heights. 

When  he  finished  his  short  sermon  he  stood 
a  few  seconds.  Then  his  shoulders  drooped, 
the  bright  spark  faded  from  his  eye  and  gave 
place  to  the  quiet,  almost  dull  gray,  and  a  quizzi 
cal  smile  softened  his  face  as  he  said,  in  sitting 
down,  "Let  those  who  feel  like  worms  be  as  de 
cent  as  they  can.  Let  those  that  feel  themselves 
sons  of  God  go  forward  toward  better  things. 
Isn't  this  the  Scripture,  Brother  Cartwright  ?" 

The  small,  bright  eyes  of  the  great  exhorter 
were  fastened  on  the  face  of  the  homely  youth. 
Here  evidently  was  a  specimen  whose  like  he 
had  not  seen. 

"There  be  those,"  answered  Cartwright, 
"who  wrest  the  Scriptures  to  their  own  damna 
tion.  We  were  created  sons  of  God  to  be  sure. 
But  we  have  been  separated  by  the  fall  of  Adam 
and  eternally  lost  unless  we  return  to  the  fold 

by  the  one  way." 

ill 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

' '  That 's  just  it,  which,  is  the  right  way !  Doc 
tor  Allen  here  goes  by  the  Predestinarian  gate. 
Graham  goes  by  the  Hard-Shell  gate.  The  New 
Lights  have  their  way,  the  Free  Wills  theirs, 
the  Dunkards  and  the  Shakers  have  theirs,  and 
you  choose  the  shouting  Methodist  way.  Which 
of  them  all  is  right? " 

"Bight — Why  I  am  rlgHt,  as  I  can  prove  by 
the  Scriptures. '  * 

Lincoln  laughed. 

"Come  to  hear  me  preach  and  I  can  prove 
to  you,  that  I  am  right.  You're  tall  and  mighty 
in  your  own  opinion,  but  I've  seen  the  tall  and 
lofty  sons  of  Belial  bite  the  dust.  Come  to  hear 
me!  I'll  get  the  scales  from  your  eyes  and  the 
stiffness  out  of  your  knees.  Let  us  pray.  To 
your  knees,  people,"  and  with  fervid  honesty 
and  all  his  consecrated  lung  power,  the  great 
exhorter  called  on  aK-mighty  God  to  have  mercy 
on  the  self -satisfied  sinner  in  their  midst. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 

THE  meeting  which  Peter  Cartwright  was  to 
hold  had  been  heralded  far  and  wide,  and  it  was 
expected  that  several  thousand  people  would 
attend.  A  great  arbor  had  been  erected  at  each 
of  the  four  corners  of  which  was  a  high  wooden 
altar  covered  with  earth  and  sod  where  pine 
torches  burned  to  illuminate  the  darkness.  A 
platform  large  enough  to  hold  twenty  preachers 
had  been  built,  with  an  open  space  in  front  scat 
tered  with  straw  and  lined  with  mourners' 
benches.  Back  from  the  arbor  a  circle  of  tents 
was  placed ;  back  of  the  tents,  wagons,  buggies, 
and  carts  of  every  description ;  and  back  of  this 
rim  of  vehicles  the  horses,  and  sometimes  oxen, 
were  tethered. 

The  gathering  together  of  so  many  people 
from  far  and  near  for  a  period  of  two  or  three 
weeks  offered  an  opportunity  for  profit-making, 
and  at  a  previous  meeting  whiskey  as  well  as 
cider  and  tobacco  had  been  sold  in  the  forest 
beyond  the  camp-clearing,  and  wheels  of  chance 
had  been  operated,  all  of  which  had  had  a  bad 

effect  on  the  meeting. 
8  113 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

The  Clary  Grove  boys,  after  a  report  from 
Lincoln,  had  decided  to  * '  give  Old  Pete  right  of 
way,"  and  planned  neither  mischief  nor  profit- 
making. 

Not  so,  however,  the  Wolf  Creek  and  Sand 
Town  gangs;  some  among  these  had  decided 
to  use  the  occasion  for  money-making,  and  the 
day  before  the  meeting  was  to  open  several  bar 
rels  of  whiskey  were  discovered  in  the  brush 
down  beyond  the  camp-arbor. 

Cartwright  immediately  sent  out  word  that 
no  whiskey-selling  would  be  allowed  anywhere 
near  the  meeting-ground,  and  to  the  end  of  dis 
covering  whom  he  must  fight,  he  disguised  him 
self  and  was  thus  able  to  locate  the  gang  of 
rowdies  whose  headquarters  he  found  a  short 
distance  down  a  little  creek  running  by  the 
camp  ground.  Close  toj  the  arbor  was  a  steep 
bank,  below  which  the  water  was  quite  deep. 
Into  this  pool,  Peter  Cartwright  learned,  a  plan 
had  been  made  to  throw  him.  The  rowdies  were 
then  to  ride  through  the  arbor  on  horses  and, 
with  screeches  and  yells  like  those  of  Indians 
break  up  the  meeting. 

With  this  information  in  hand,  Peter  Cart 
wright  prepared  himself,  and,  armed  with  a 

114 


THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 

stout  hickory  club,  he  hid  at  the  narrow  passage 
through  which  the  horsemen  were  to  come,  a 
pathway  around  the  high  bank  just  above  the 
deep  pool. 

The  singing  service  which  preceded  the  ser 
mon,  led  by  the  ten  exhorters  up  at  the  arbor,  was 
swelling  into  an  inspiring  volume  when  Cart- 
wright,  hiding  in  the  gloom,  heard  the  sound  of 
horses,  and  the  next  moment  the  leader  of  the 
Wolf  Creek  gang  appeared,  making  his  smiling 
way,  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  arbor. 

It  was  at  this  time  the  music  of  the  pious 
song  was  pierced  by  an  unearthly  screech,  end 
ing  with  the  words,  "In  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
GET  BACK!"  The  horse  was  the  first  to  heed 
the  exhorter's  summary  order.  Pitching  his 
rider  off  perilously  close  to  the  brink  of  the 
creek,  he  snorted  away  into  the  forest. 

"In  the  name  of  the  Lord,  get  thee  behind 
me,  Satan ! ' '  Cartwright  shouted  again,  this  time 
into  the  ear  of  the  Wolf  Creek  rowdy,  and,  with 
the  words,  he  gave  him  such  a  resounding  whack 
with  his  club  as  to  knock  him  over  the  bank.  The 
next  moment  the  leader  of  the  gang  found  him 
self  kicking  in  the  cold  waters  into  which  he  had 
planned  to  throw  Cartwright. 

115 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Several  others  of  the  gang  now  came  up  and 
made  an  effort  to  pass,  but  the  yells  of  Cart- 
wright)  had  summoned  the  strong  ones  from  the 
arbor  and  after  a  general  mixing  up  between  the 
sheep  and  the  goats,  the  more  valiant  members 
of  the  Wolf  Creek  gang  found  themselves  crawl 
ing  out  of  the  water  at  the  foot  of  the  bank. 

When  the  gang  had  been  dispersed,  Peter 
Cartwright,  puffing  and  blowing,  returned  to  the 
arbor  and  sounded  the  great  trumpet  call  to 
preaching.  The  disturbed  audience  gathered  in 
quickly,  the  women  seating  themselves  on  one 
side  and  the  men  on  the  other. 

Taking  a  timely  text,  the  exhorter  described 
with  great  power  the  conflict  he  had  just  been 
having  with  the  devil,  and  when  he  had  reached 
the  climax  of  the  great  fight,  and  had  described 
the  way  the  devil  went  splashing  into  the  pool, 
he  sprang  from  his  pulpit  to  a  long  bench  across 
the  altar,  and,  walking  back  and  forth,  shouted 
in  a  mighty  voice : 

Then,  my  soul  mounted  higher 

In  a  chariot  of  fire, 

And  the  moon  it  was  under  my  feet! 

From  a  shout,  the  words  grew  into  a  song, 
improvised  scriptural  texts  serving  for  the 

116 


THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 

verses,  and  the  chorus  each  time  being  the  vic 
torious  statement  that  his  soul  had  mounted  up 
until  the  moon  was  under  his  feet.  The  audience 
soon  caught  the  swing  of  the  chorus  and  sent 
out  great  volumes  of  melody  on  the  night  air. 

After  this  song,  the  old  favorite,  "Where,  0 
where  are  the  Hebrew  children? "  was  started, 
and  as  the  questions  "Where,  O  where  now  is 
good  Elijah?";  "Where,  0  where  now  is  good 
old  Daniel ? " ;  "Where,  0  where  now  is  my  good 
mother?"  were  sung,  with  their  answers,  en 
thusiasm  grew  until  the  united  answers  rolled 
away  in  great  sound-waves  on  the  stillness  of  the 
black  forest. 

The  situation  was  growing  interesting. 
There  was  a  suppressed  feeling  that  something 
was  going  to  happen. 

Among  the  hundreds  who  stood  about  the 
sides  were  Abe  Lincoln  and  Doctor  Allen,  who 
had  taken  the  time  to  ride  over  in  the  hopes  of 
seeing  for  themselves  an  exhibit  of  spiritual 
power  known  as  the  jerks.  The  perceptible  and 
steady  rise  in  excitement  gave  promise  of  almost 
any  kind  of  unusual  demonstration.  Sinners 
had  been  called  to  the  altar  and  many  were  fall 
ing  in  the  dust,  groaning  and  calling  on  God  to 

117 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

save  them  from  sin  and  its  terrible  punishment 
of  hell. 

Cartwright  by  now  seemed  to  be  singing, 
exhorting,  preaching  and  praying  all  at  the  same 
time.  The  shonters  had  felt  the  power,  and 
added  to  the  singing  and  praying.  Shrill  cries 
of  "  Glory, "  and  other  ejaculations  of  unearthly 
joy  were  heard.  Bonnets,  caps,  and  combs  were 
beginning  to  fly.  Several  of  the  sisters  gave  ex 
hibitions  of  what  were  called  running,  jumping 
and  barking  exercises,  and  the  men  most  inter 
ested  in  them  were  near  at  hand  to  catch  them 
when  they  fell.  Some  who  succumbed  to  this 
excess  of  joy,  remained  in  a  trance-like  condi 
tion,  however,  and  there  were  at  one  time  many 
unconscious  men  and  women  lying  prostrate  in 
the  straw  at  one  place.  Abe  Lincoln  and  Dr. 
Allen  looked  on  with  much  interest. 

In  the  midst  of  the  excitement,  there  came 
to  the  ears  of  Abe  Lincoln,  from  the  woman's 
side,  somewhere  across  from  him,  a  familiar 
note.  His  interest  was  at  once  centred  in  dis 
covering  the  owner  of  the  voice.  After  a  very 
short  time  he  saw  Ann  Rutledge.  To-night  she 
wore  a  dress  half  wool,  half  flax,  a  soft  material, 
dyed  with  butternut  until  it  was  as  yellow  as 

118 


THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 

her  hair.  She  stood  not  far  from  one  of  the 
pine-torch  fires,  and  in  the  reflection  of  the 
orange  flames  she  made  a  picture  worthy  an 
artist's  canvas. 

With  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  shining  as  if 
touched  by  fire  from  some  heavenly  altar,  Abe 
Lincoln  suddenly  became  oblivious  of  the  scenes 
about  him,  though  proving  of  such  unusual  in 
terest  to  Dr.  Allen. 

The  song  about  the  Hebrew  children  had 
given  way  to  another  and  yet  more  emotional 
expression ;  a  hand- shaking  ditty  which  seemed 
little  more  than  a  monophonic  impromptu  to 
carry  the  line,  "My  brother,  I  wish  you  well; 
when  my  Lord  calls,  I  trust  you  will  be  men 
tioned  in  the  Promised  Land. ' '  Before  the  many 
improvised  verses  of  this  chant,  alike  rousing 
and  pathetic,  had  been  sung  twice,  the  climax 
joy  of  the  safety  of  heavenly  bliss,  and  the 
climax  sorrow  of  the  doom  of  eternal  punish 
ment  had  been  reached,  and  it  was  evident  to 
Dr.  Allen  that  the  strange  physical  expression 
was  about  to  break  out. 

"Look!"  he  said  to  Abe  Lincoln. 

There  was  no  response. 

"Look!"  he  repeated. 
119 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Then  he  glanced  at  the  man  by  his  side. 
Abe  Lincoln  was  looking,  but  not  as  Dr.  Allen 
had  indicated,  and  the  expression  on  his  face 
was  one  Dr.  Allen  had  never  seen  there.  For  a 
moment  his  eyes  rested  on  the  nnconth  and 
homely  youth  in  surprise ;  then,  as  if  hesitating 
to  break  some  pleasant  spell,  he  took  him  by  the 
arm  and  said  softly, ' '  They're  getting  the  jerks. ' ' 

Abe  Lincoln  turned  suddenly,  and  in  some 
thing  of  an  apologetic  tone  said,  "It's  Ann  Rut- 
ledge  singing.  Look  at  her  face.  Doesn't  she 
seem  happy?" 

"Ann  Rutledge  is  always  happy,"  Dr.  Allen 
answered,  "but  look  up  in  front." 

"Hope  she  don't  catch  it,"  he  said  with  a 
last  glance  at  Ann  as  he  turned  his  attention  to 
a  woman  who  had  just  shaken  her  apron  off. 

"Don't  fear,"  Dr.  Allen  replied  smiling. 
"Book  learning  and  this  sort  of  thing  don't  go 
together. ' ' 

Dr.  Allen  and  Abe  Lincoln  pushed  nearer 
the  front.  According  to  Cartwright  the  jerks 
were  useful  to  call  attention  to  the  power  of 
God  or  the  devil,  whichever  caused  the  peculiar 
demonstration.  At  any  rate  it  affected  them 

powerfully,  and  soon  many  about  the  altar  were 

120 


THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 

in  different  stages  of  the  mysterious  visitation 
of  the  supernatural.  The  heads  of  some  jerked 
from  side  to  side.  Others  bent  back  and  forth. 
Sometimes  the  whole  body  jerked  so  violently  it 
soon  fell  exhausted,  and  many  bodies  that  fell 
into  the  straw  lay  for  days  before  returning  to 
consciousness. 

As  Dr.  Allen  and  Abe  Lincoln  watched,  they 
saw  one  man,  who  stood  near  a  support,  beat 
against  it  until  the  skin  was  scraped  from  his 
forehead.  Dr.  Allen  felt  moved  with  profes 
sional  pity,  but  Abe  Lincoln  said,  "He's  getting 
religion,  let  him  alone. ' ' 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when 
those  who  had  breath  enough  left  sang,  "Blest 
be  the  tie  that  binds, "  and  repaired  to  their  tents 
to  rest  until  the  trumpet  should  summon  them 
to  early  morning  prayers. 

The  next  morning,  as  Abe  Lincoln  and  Dr. 
Allen  were  crossing  the  arbor  grounds,  they  saw 
Ann  Eutledge  and  John  McNeil  laughing  to 
gether  as  she  fried  eggs  over  an  open  fire.  For 
a  moment  Lincoln  felt  the  same  sensation  he 
experienced  when  once  before  he  would  have 

destroyed  McNeil  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

121 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Dr.  Allen  noted  the  momentary  expression 
on  his  face  and  involuntarily  compared  it  with 
what  he  had  seen  there  the  night  before.  He  did 
not  stop  now  to  make  any  deductions,  but  he 
did  not  forget. 

A  little  later  Abe  Lincoln  met  Ann  and  the 
Rev.  Peter  Cartwright.  "We  were  talking 
about  you, ' '  Ann  said. 

"I  was  wondering  if  the  demonstration  of 
Divine  power  at  last  night's  meeting  had  not 
shaken  the  scales  from  your  eyes,  my  sinner 
friend,"  was  the  exhorter's  greeting. 

"I  suppose  you  call  me  a  sinner  because  I  do 
not  believe  in  hell,"  Abe  Lincoln  said,  smiling. 

"No  man  can  be  religious  and  not  fear  hell. ' ' 

"My  sin  then  is  in  lack  of  fear,  but  I  didn't 
make  myself,  and  God  just  forgot  to  put  it  in. 
Am  I  to  blame  for  that  ? ' ' 

"Don't  be  a  scoffer,"  was  Cartwright 's  ad 
vice.  "You  have  a  soul  worth  saving,  young 
man.  I  shall  pray  for  your  never-dying  soul. 
Perhaps  others  are  praying  for  you,  and  the 
effectual  fervent  prayer  of  the  righteous  man 
availeth  much." 

"Thanks.  I'll  do  as  much  for  you  if  you 
ever  get  in  need. ' '  Abe  Lincoln  answered,  and 

122 


THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHOUT 

bidding  Ann  and  the  preacher  good-bye  he  went 
on  his  way. 

John  McNeil  had  come  up  just  as  Lincoln 
turned  away.  "Poor  deluded  sinner,"  Cart- 
wright  said  kindly,  looking  after  the  tall,  un 
couth  figure  of  Abe  Lincoln.  "How  Satan  does 
delude  the  soul  of  man,  but  he's  worth  praying 
for." 

When  John  McNeil  was  alone  with  Ann  Eut- 
ledge  a  few  moments  later,  he  said:  "What  did 
I  tell  you,  Ann?  I  like  Abe  Lincoln  all  right, 
but  I  believe  he  is  one  of  the  worst  sinners  in  this 
county.  Why  even  those  Wolf  Creek  rowdies 
that  tried  to  break  up  the  meeting  believe  in 
hell." 

"Folks  don't  see  things  the  same  way,"  Ann 
asserted  thoughtfully. 

"No — I  suppose  you'd  call  Abe  Lincoln  a 
saint." 

Ann  made  no  answer.  She  seemed  just  then 
to  hear  a  bruised  and  helpless  child  saying: 
"God  come,  and  His  name's  Abe  Lincoln." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  BUSY  SINNER 

WHILE  Peter  Cartwright  was  laboring  with 
every  honest  ounce  of  energy  in  his  energetic 
BOU!  and  body  to  get  his  fellow-men  safely  aboard 
the  old  ship  of  Zion,  Abe  Lincoln  was  finding 
diversions  from  the  regular  routine  of  store 
work,  in  kind  as  different  as  whipping  a  bully 
and  feeding  a  baby. 

The  bully  happened  into  the  store  one  after 
noon  while  Abe  Lincoln  was  waiting  on  a  couple 
of  ladies.  He  had  not  seen  the  stranger  before, 
and  greeted  him  with  his  usual  salutation, 
"Howdy,  partner — come  in." 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  stranger  was  on 
no  friendly  mission. 

Hardly  was  he  inside  the  store  than  he  began 
to  talk  abusively  and  to  deliver  himself  of  an 
abundance  of  profanity. 

Leaning  over  the  counter  Lincoln  called  the 
man's  attention  to  the  fact  that  there  were  ladies 
present.  The  man  continued  his  abuse  and 
swearing.  Again  Abe  Lincoln  spoke  to  him,  this 
time  saying  in  positive  terms  that  no  swearing 
was  allowed  when  ladies  were  in  the  store. 

124 


A  BUSY  SINNER 

The  reply  to  this  remark  was  worse  swearing. 

Abe  Lincoln  said  nothing  more  until  the 
ladies  were  gone.  Then  he  walked  out  from  be 
hind  the  counter  and  looked  the  stranger  over. 

"There's  some  sort  of  folks  who  can't  listen 
to  reason,"  he  remarked.  "Them  kind  has  to 
have  the  daylights  whaled  out  of  them.  What 
you  need,  partner,  and  what  you  are  goin'  to  get 
is  a  spankin'." 

This  seemed  to  be  what  the  stranger  had 
desired.  Pushing  out  his  chest  he  stepped  be 
fore  Lincoln  and  told  him  to  come  on. 

"Let's  move  out  onto  the  face  of  the  earth," 
Lincoln  said.  "I  don't  want  to  tear  up  the 
crockery  and  kick  the  molasses  over." 

When  they  were  out  at  the  side  of  the  store 
and  while  the  big  bully  was  yet  telling  what  he 
was  going  to  do,  he  was  seized  suddenly,  thrown 
to  the  ground  and  rolled  over  a  couple  of  times. 
Then  the  tall  man  grabbed  a  handful  of  smart- 
weeds  and  rubbed  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  profane 
stranger  until  he  bellowed  like  a  bull. 

A  crowd  had  collected  to  discover  what  the 
row  was  about,  among  them  John  McNeil. 

When  Lincoln  had  extracted  a  promise  from 
his  visitor  that  he  would  keep  his  swearing  for 

125 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

men  only,  lie  let  him  up,  and,  taking  him  by  the 
arm,  led  him  back  to  the  store-steps  and  seated 
him.  He  then  brought  water,  bathed  the  eyes  of 
the  subdued  stranger,  and  shook  hands  with 
him. 

This  incident  furnished  talk  for  New  Salem 
for  a  couple  of  days,  and  John  McNeil  made  a 
special  trip  to  camp-meeting  that  night  to  tell 
Ann  Rutledge  about  the  fresh  pugilistic  out 
break  of  the  tallest  sinner  in  their  midst. 

In  less  than  a  fortnight  after  this  incident, 
the  stranger  came  again  to  the  store  with  the  re 
quest  that  Lincoln  return  with  him  at  once  to 
his  home,  as  his  wife  was  sick.  He  had  recently 
moved  out  from  Indiana  and  was  not  acquainted 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  he  felt,  some  way,  that 
Lincoln  could  help  her. 

To  Honey  Grove,  a  few  miles  distant,  Lin 
coln  went  with  him,  and  in  a  poor  little  cabin 
found  a  woman  with  a  small  baby.  The  woman 
was  suffering  from  some  sort  of  fever  which  had 
followed  a  severe  chill. 

"We  didn't  have  nary  remedy,"  she  said 
with  labored  breath.  ' '  Back  at  Wild  Cat  Eun  in 
Indianny,  I  had  some  black  dog  ile  rendered  in 
the  dark  of  the  moon.  Lots  of  folks  was  cured 

126 


A  BUSY  SINNER 

with  it,  but  I  couldn't  git  no  black  dog  ile,  nor 
blood  of  a  black  cat,  nor  even  the  blood  of  a 
black  hen  here.  Do  you  know  whar  thar's  a 
black  cat  or  dog?  I'm  powerful  hot — I  can't 
hardly  breathe,  I'm  so  hot.  Jim,  he  says  if 
there's  anybody  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  can  do 
it  it's  Abe  Linkum.  Kin  you  help  me?  Do  you 
know  where  there's  a  black  dog? 

As  the  tall  youth  stood  over  the  bed  hearing 
the  plea  his  face  was  moved  with  pity. 

"Yes,  I'll  help  you.  But  I  know  something 
better  than  a  black  dog.  We'll  get  Dr.  Allen. 
He 's  the  best  doctor  and  got  the  biggest  heart  of 
any  man  in  Illinois.  He'll  come  and  cure  you." 

Then  Abe  Lincoln  wrote  a  few  lines  on  a 
paper  which  he  had  in  his  pocket.  ' '  Hurry  with 
bearer  if  possible,  and  bring  Hannah  Armstrong. 
We  may  save  a  mother's  life.  She  has  a  little 
baby.  A.Lincoln." 

This  he  gave  to  the  waiting  husband,  bid 
ding  him  go  back  with  all  possible  speed  to  New 
Salem. 

At  best  it  would  be  a  couple  of  hours  before 
the  doctor  could  arrive,  for  it  was  several  miles 
to  town.  Dr.  Allen  and  Jack  Armstrong  both 
had  good  horses ;  Hannah  was  a  fine  rider,  and 

127 


Lincoln  knew  they  would  hasten  if  the  doctor 
was  not  away  on  some  other  call. 

When  the  husband  had  gone  Abe  Lincoln 
found  himself  alone  in  a  small  clearing  circled 
about  by  miles  of  woods.  The  short,  heavy 
breathing  of  the  woman  broke  the  stillness  of 
the  warm  fall  afternoon.  He  turned  to  the  bed 
and  looked  down  at  the  sufferer.  Her  face  was 
saffron  yellow,  brightened  to  copper  on  her 
cheeks  by  flush  of  fever.  Her  eyes  shone  like 
glass.  Her  features  were  pinched,  and  her  mouth 
drawn. 

The  young  man  by  the  bedside  knew  that  un 
less  help  speedily  came  death  was  not  far.  Bend 
ing  over  her,  he  drew  his  long,  strong  fingers 
across  her  burning  forehead. 

"How  good  that  feels!"  she  said,  half  clos 
ing  her  eyes.  ' '  You  got  fingers  soft  as  a  baby 's. ' ' 

He  brought  some  water,  and  not  being  able 
to  find  a  cloth,  used  his  hand,  making  it  cool  and 
brushing  her  face  very  gently. 

For  a  few  moments  she  seemed  easier,  mur 
muring  her  thanks.  "Your  maw,"  she  said, 
opening  her  eyes,  "how  she  must  love  you." 

"I  have  no  mother,"  he  said  huskily  " — not 
in  this  world. ' ' 

128 


A  BUSY  SINNER 

''Your  woman,  then,"  she  said,  breathing 
the  words  out  with  labor  " — every  man  has  his 
woman. ' ' 

He  made  no  answer. 

Under  the  touch  of  his  cool  hand  she  seemed 
for  a  time  to  grow  quiet.  But  the  fever  was 
burning  higher  in  her  veins,  and  soon  she  began 
to  rock  her  head  and  utter  incoherent  words. 

Then  she  opened  her  eyes  again.  ''I'm 
skeered,"'  she  said.  "I'm  awful  skeered.  I 
hain't  done  nobody  no  harm — but  I  ain't  never 
been  religious." 

' '  Don 't  be  afraid, ' '  he  said  huskily.  ' '  Wliat 
is  there  to  fear?" 

"Hell— hell,"  she  moaned,  "I've  heerd  it 
preached. ' ' 

Abe  Lincoln  started  to  say  something  reas 
suring,  but  again  her  mind  was  wandering. 
When  she  spoke  now,  it  was  of  the  baby  lying 
on  the  back  of  the  bed.  After  opening  her  eyes 
and  steadying  them,  she  half  moaned,  "He's 
hungry,  the  fever's  dried  me  up — can  you  feed 
the  baby  ?  There 's  milk— there 's  milk ' ' 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  It  seemed 
hard  for  her  to  speak. 

"  I'll  find  the  milk  and  feed  the  baby.    Don 't 

9  129 


worry, ' '  and  he  brushed  her  hot  arms  and  hands 
and  forehead  with  his  big,  wet  hands. 

Again  she  sank  back  into  that  restless  drow 
siness  broken  by  moans  and  incoherent  mutter- 
ings.  Sometimes  there  was  a  sharp  outcry,  and 
always  the  labored  breathing,  growing  ever 
faster  and  faster. 

Abe  Lincoln  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
anxiously  up  at  the  sun,  and  from  the  sun,  down 
the  roadway. 

When  he  returned  to  the  bed  the  woman 
wanted  to  speak  again.  She  opened  her  eyes. 
At  first  there  was  only  a  glassy  stare,  but  with 
an  effort  she  gathered  her  vision  and,  fixing  her 
eyes  on  the  homely  face  by  her  side,  she  said  with 
words  that  seemed  beaten  out  by  some  raging 
inward  force,  "Abe  Linkum,  kin  you  pray!" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  without  hesitation, 
"what's  prayer  but  callin'  on  God  when  there 
ain  't  no  one  else  can  help  1 — yes. ' ' 

' '  Pray, ' '  she  pleaded — '  *  kneel  down  and  pray 
for  me — I'm — burnin'  up." 

The  young  man  knelt  beside  the  bed.  The 
woman  reached  out  and  clutched  him.  He  took 
her  burning  hand  in  his.  By  its  pressure  he 
knew  that  she  was  hearing  what  he  said,  as  in  a 

130 


A  BUSY  SINNER 

few  simple  words  lie  brought  to  the  attention 
of  the  Father  the  needs  of  a  helpless  and  suffer 
ing  child. 

When  he  arose,  the  expression  in  the  shining 
eyes  told  him  the  woman  was  still  conscious. 

A  moment  she  looked  into  his  face.  Then 
she  said:  "Tain't  nothin'  to  be  skeered  of — is 
ther' — I  ain't  skeered  no  more — God,  He  won't 
let  them  git  me  and  carry  me  to  hell — God — 

God "  then  the  intelligent  light  passed  and 

the  fitful  fire  of  consuming  fever  took  its  place. 

The  end  was  at  hand.  Anxiously  Abe  Lincoln 
looked  up  the  roadway,  praying  in  his  heart  for  a 
sight  of  Dr.  Allen.  The  woman  was  raving 
wildly,  and  before  another  ten  minutes  had  gone, 
life  had  left  her  body. 

Abe  Lincoln  folded  the  hot  hands  over  the 
fevered  breast,  straightened  the  head  on  the  pil 
low  and  turned  the  cover  up. 

As  he  stood  looking  down  on  the  clay  tene 
ment  the  baby  cried.  After  a  brief  search  the 
milk  was  found,  and  taking  the  little  one  from 
its  dead  mother,  the  gawky  young  man  began  the 
task  of  feeding  it  with  a  spoon. 

Scarcely  had  he  finished  this  task  than  the 
ring  of  horse's  hoofs  sounded  down  the  roadway. 

131 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

(rood  Dr.  Allen  was  coining,  and  with  Hannah 
Armstrong. 

"Too  late,  Doc,"  Abe  Lincoln  said  quietly, 
looking  toward  the  bed.  Then  holding  the  baby 
to  Hannah  Armstrong,  he  said,  "I've  fed  calves 
and  pups,  but  this  one  seems  to  leak  about  the 
ears.  So  far  all  the  milk  has  gone  down  its 
neck. ' ' 

Hannah  Armstrong  took  the  baby.  Doctor 
Allen  was  looking  at  the  hot  body,  which  even 
now  was  beginning  to  turn  black  under  the  finger 
nails  and  about  the  mouth. 

' '  Swamp  poison, ' '  he  said.  * '  I  could  not  have 
saved  her — not  to-day. " 

After  Dr.  Allen  and  Hannah  Armstrong  had 
gone  back  to  New  Salem  Abe  Lincoln  stayed  long 
enough  to  help  the  woman's  husband  make  a 
coffin. 

On  her  way  home,  Hannah  Armstrong 
stopped  at  Eutledge  Inn  to  consult  Mrs.  Rut- 
ledge  as  to  what  should  be  done  for  the  baby, 
and  it  was  through  her  Ann  Rutledge  heard  a 
portion  of  the  story. 

"If  there's  any  preacher  or  elder  or  deacon 
or  shoutin'  saint  in  this  whole  country  that's 
doin'  more  for  his  fellers  than  Abe  Lincoln,  I 

132 


A  BUSY  SINNER 

want  to  see  the  color  of  his  eye,"  declared  Han 
nah.  "He's  fulfillin'  the  Scripture  what  says, 
'Let  not  one  hand  know  what  the  other  one's 
doing, '  and  yet  they  say  he 's  a  sinner. ' ' 

'  *  I  never  heard  Abe  Lincoln  called  a  sinner, ' ' 
Mrs.  Rutledge  protested  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  they  do.  Jack  Armstrong  himself 
heard  John  McNeil  telling  a  bunch  at  Hill's  store 
that  Peter  Cartwright  himself  said  Abe  Lincoln 
was  a  poor,  deluded  sinner."  Then  she  turned 
to  Arm  and  said:  "Ann,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  speak 
to  John  McNeil  about  talkin'  about  Abe  Lin 
coln.  John  McNeil's  a  nice  fellow,  best  there  is, 
but  'tain't  fair  for  him  to  be  pointin'  Abe  Lincoln 
out  as  a  sinner.  'Twix  the  two  of  them,  John 
with  his  ten  thousand,  and  Abe  Lincoln  with 
nothin',  I  guess  Abe's  doing  his  share." 

Ann  gave  Hannah  Armstrong  no  answer. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

DUBING  the  fall  season  there  were  husking- 
bees  where  merry  parties  gathered  to  put  away 
great  piles  of  corn,  partake  of  bountiful  dinners 
and  play  games  in  the  evening.  There  were  also 
a  number  of  log-rollings  and  new  barn-raisings, 
at  all  of  which  Abe  Lincoln  seemed  to  be  a  favor 
ite.  In  fact,  the  ungainly  clerk  in  Offutt's  store 
had  come  to  be  about  the  most  popular  man  in 
town  among  the  men,  boys  and  married  women. 
He  did  not,  however,  pay  any  special  attention 
to  the  girls,  and  this  seemed  out  of  the  regular 
order,  especially  as  they  had  a  friendly  feeling 
for  him. 

With  the  coming  of  Christmas  there  was 
preparation  for  much  simple  gift-giving.  Ann 
Rutiedge  especially  took  this  holiday  time  for 
remembering  more  folks  than  any  other  girl  in 
New  Salem. 

One  gift  she  had  worked  on  with  no  small 
amount  of  pleasure  was  a  gray  yarn  muffler  for 
Abe  Lincoln. 

"He  goes  to  all  the  debates  and  he  might  get 

134 


THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

sore  throat,  ' '  Ann  explained  to  her  mother  when 
asking  her  permission  to  make  the  gift.  "Be 
sides,  he  hasn't  any  people  and  nobody  else 
might  remember  about  him. ' ' 

"You're  a  good  girl  to  try  to  save  Abe  Lin 
coln's  throat  for  the  Debatin'  Society,"  Mrs. 
Eutledge  had  said,  laughing.  "  There  'd  be  an 
awful  long  stretch  of  stiff  neck  if  cold  got  into 
him." 

Another  of  Ann's  gifts  was  a  fruit-cake  bear 
made  by  her  own  hands  for  Ole  Bar. 

When  she  presented  Abe  Lincoln  with  his 
gift,  it  proved  such  a  pleasant  surprise  that  he 
was  rendered  for  the  moment  speechless.  At  the 
same  time  she  handed  him  the  cake.  ' '  Give  it  to 
poor  Ole  Bar, ' '  she  had  said.  * l  He  seems  to  be 
all  alone  in  the  world,  and  I'm  afraid  nobody 
will  think  of  him." 

Ole  Bar,  as  Abe  Lincoln  had  been,  was  too 
much  surprised  to  find  words  for  adequate  ex 
pression.  The  next  day,  however,  he  returned 
to  the  store  and  as  soon  as  he  got  a  chance  to 
talk  with  the  clerk  alone  he  said,  "Abry  Link- 
horn,  me  son  Abry,  every  man  what's  a  man 
and  not  a  pipe-crower  in  breeches,  mates.  The 
Lord  God  made  'em  that  way,  same  as  bars  what 

135 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

brushes  fur  and  courts  in  their  own  decent  way. 
Fur  reasons  that  no  man  hasn't  been  able  to 
pick  out  of  me,  I  haven't  got  me  no  Mollie  and 
haven't  no  use  for  wimmin.  But  all  them  as 
isn't  crippled  nor  fools  nor  too  old  to  tote  sticks, 
gets  them  one  at  some  time.  Now  you  git  Ann 
Eutledge." 

"But  Ann  Rutledge  is  goin'  to  be  married 
next  year  to  another  man,"  Abe  Lincoln  said. 

' '  Say,  Abry,  me  son,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
bar  standin'  back  like  a  holler-headed  pip-jack 
when  his  Mollie  was  paradin'  round  in  front  of 
his  eyes  just  because  he  thought  some  other  bar 
was  goin'  to  git  her  next  year?  If  I  must  speak 
f er  you,  you  never  did.  Nature  comes  fust.  Just 
you  git  your  own  Mollie  and  let  the  other  feller 
look  out  f  er  hisself . ' ' 

' '  But  she 's  promised,  Ole  Bar.  She  has  given 
her  honorable  word. ' ' 

Ole  Bar  chewed  rapidly  a  moment.  Then  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  said  with  decision, 
"Tain't  nothin'  to  that.  Wimmin  is  like  bars. 
The  best  fighter  gits  the  best  female.  If  you 
show  her  what  everybody  else  knows,  that  you  're 
twice  the  man  that  deer-faced  penny-grabber  of 
hern  is,  she's  yours,  promise  or  no  promise.  Git 

136 


THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

Ann  Kutledge.  Tain't  nobody  in  forty  years 
has  thought  of  Ole  Bar  and  sent  him  a  present. 
She  '11  think  of  ye,  Abry  Linkhorn,  think  of  ye. 
Ain't  it  worth  fightin'  fer  to  have  somebody  to 
think  of  ye  f  Ain  't  Ann  Eutledge  worth  fightin ' 
fer?" 

Abraham  admitted  she  was  worth  fighting 
for,  and  he  thought  of  this  the  night  of  the  big 
spelling-match. 

For  the  development  of  pioneer  talent  the 
New  Salem  Debating  Society  had  been  formed 
that  winter,  and  had  held  some  interesting  meet 
ings.  There  had  been  a  number  of  men's  meet- 
ingsi  for  the  discussion  of  political  subjects, 
which  Abe  Lincoln  attended,  but  he  had  not  yet 
appeared  at  the  Debating  Society. 

The  spelling-match  was  to  be  preceded  by 
a  debate  on  the  question,  "Resolved  that  the 
negro-  is  more  unjustly  treated  than  the  In 
dian?"  Abe  Lincoln  had  been  invited  to  take 
one  side,  whichever  he  chose,  and  had  said  he 
didn't  care  which  he  took,  he  could  win.  So 
he  was  given  the  negro  side. 

On  the  night  of  the  important  occasion  the 
little  school  house  was  packed  with  men  and 
women  and  children.  Candles  gleamed  brightly 

137 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

on  shingles  which  had  been  fastened  into  the 
chinks  of  the  logs,  and  a  big  fire  burned  in  the 
wide  fireplace. 

"When  Abe  Lincoln  arose  to  speak  it  seemed 
that  his  head  would  hit  the  rafters  before  he 
finally  got  straightened  up.  He  wore  jean 
pants  five  inches  above  his  shoe  tops,  below 
which  an  expanse  of  blue  yarn  socks  showed. 
His  collarless  shirt  was  fastened  at  the  neck 
with  a  big  white  button.  His  coat-tail  was  so 
short  that  to  sit  on  it  would  have  been  an  im 
possibility,  his  heavy  shock  of  black  hair  stood 
out  sideways,  and,  as  he  ran  his  hands  down 
into  his  pantaloon  pockets  and  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  as  if  embarrassed,  a  smile  passed  over 
the  audience  and  they  awaited  eagerly  the  funny 
stories  they  thought  he  would  tell,  ready  to 
burst  into  laughter. 

After  announcing  his  subject  and  beginning 
his  speech,  his  hands  came  out  of  his  pockets 
and  his  embarrassment  disappeared.  He  forgot 
his  surroundings  in  the  earnestness  of  the 
thoughts  he  was  giving  expression  to,  and  the 
men  and  women  before  him  forgot  they  were 
not  hearing  a  funny  story  and  leaned  forward 
listening  earnestly.  "One  man  says  to  an- 

138 


THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

other,"  lie  said,  "  'You  work,  you  toil,  you  earn 
the  bread,  and  I  will  eat  it. '  But  I  say  to  you 
that  whether  it  be  a  king  with  a  crown  on  his 
head  that  says  this,  or  whether  it  be  a  class 
with  the  power  to  force  men,  it  all  means  slavery 
for  the  man  whose  toil,  whose  work,  whose  labor 
is  not  his  own,  .  .  .  Peter  Cartwright  and  others 
say  the  question  of  slavery  or  no  slavery  is 
spreading  and  that  unless  it  is  settled  there  will 
come  war.  .  .  .  Why  don't  the  Government  buy 
the  slaves  and  set  them  free?  This  would  be 
right — this  would  be  just — this  might  save  hu 
man  life  and  great  expense  which  at  last  has  to 
be  paid  by  human  labor."  Then  he  told  them 
about  a  slave-pen  he  had  seen  in  New  Orleans 
where  men  were  sold  as  the  farmers1  about  New 
Salem  sold  hogs,  and  he  gave  utterance  to  that 
basic  thought  of  Democracy  that  no  man  is  great 
enough  to  control  another  man's  freedom  of 
thought  or  action. 

Ann  Eutledge  sat  with  her  father  and  mother. 
"There's  something  besides  wit  under  that  mop 
of  black  hair, ' '  Eutledge  whispered  as  Abe  Lin 
coln  sat  down.  The  homely  orator  was  loudly 
cheered,  Ann  Eutledge  with  smiling  face  clap 
ping  heartily.  Lincoln  glanced  her  way,  and  as 

139 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

his  eye  rested  on  her  for  a  moment  he  thought 
of  Ole  Bar's  advice. 

Then  the  spelling-match  was  called.  Sides 
were  chosen  and  rows  of  young  people  from  the 
age  of  Sis  Rutledge  to  that  of  John  McNeil 
formed  one  on  each  side  of  the  room.  Mentor 
Graham  gave  out  the  words  from  Webster 's 
"Speller,"  examples  of  their  use  being  required 
as  well  as  spelling. 

Abe  Lincoln  and  John  McNeil  were  on  the 
same  side,  Ann  Rutledge  stood  opposite. 

The  schoolmaster  opened  the  book  toward 
the  front,  for  an  easy  beginning. 

"Nag'*,  he  gave  out. 

"N-a-g — My  nag  runs  in  the  lot." 

"Bib." 

"B-i-b — Put  on  his  new  bib. " 

"Rude." 

"E-u-d-e — A  rude  girl  will  romp  in  the 
street." 

"Coach." 

This  word  three  sat  down  on.  It  was  finally 
spelled. 

"C-o-a-<5-h — Few  men  can  afford  to  keep  a 
coach." 

"Spark." 

140 


THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

' '  S-p-a-r-k — What  John  McNeil  does  to  Ann 
Rutledge  when  Pa  goes  to  bed." 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  definition 
from  Sis  Rutledge  in  which  John  Eutledge 
joined  heartily.  Dr.  Allen  who  sat  opposite  Abe 
Lincoln  looked  toward  him.  There  was  a  smile 
on  his  face,  but  it  almost  instantly  passed, 
and  gave  place  to  an  expression  the  Doctor 
did  not  have  time  to  study,  for  the  match  was 
going  on. 

''Pester." 

"P-e-s-t-e-r — Never  pester  little  boys." 

"Fore-top." 

"F-o-u-r " 

' '  Next ! ' '  called  the  master. 

"F-o-r-e-t-o-p — The  hair  over  the  forehead  is 
called  the  foretop." 

"Pompions." 

"P-o-m-p-i-o-n-s — Pompions  are  now  com 
monly  called  pumpkins. 

"Frounce." 

"F-r-o-w " 

"Next!"  called  the  master,  and  several  sat 
down  before  it  was  spelled. 

"F-r-o-u-n-c-e — To  frounce  is  to  curl  or  friz 
zle  the  hair. ' ' 

141 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Experience,"  the  word  was  given  to  Abe 
Lincoln. 

"E-x-p-e-r-i-e-n-c-e — Experience  keeps  a 
dear  school,  but  fools  will  learn  in  no  other." 

"Love" — the  word  was  given  to  McNeil. 

A  giggle  went  around  the  room  and  the 
words,  "John  McNeil,"  were  whispered  as  he 
spelled ' '  L-o-v-e — love. '  * 

"Give  the  definition,"  the  master  said. 

"Love  is — is — love — is" — John  McNeil  hesi 
tated  and  stopped. 

' '  Who  knows  what  love  is  f  "  Mentor  Graham 
asked. 

Half  a  dozen  hands  were  raised,  among  them 
the  big  hand  of  Abe  Lincoln,  which  seemed  reach 
ing  into  the  rafters. 

"Abe  Lincoln,"  called  the  master. 

"Love  is  an  agreeable  passion;  love  is  some 
times  stronger  than  death,  and  folks  that  love 
know  it." 

Mentor  Graham  dropped  his  eye  on  the  open 
page  of  the  spelling  book.  "Where  did  you  get 
your  definition?"  he  asked. 

"From  the  book,"  Abe  Lincoln  replied. 

"I  mean  the  part  that  is  not  in  the  book?" 

"I  got  that  from — from "  and  the  big, 

142 


THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

homely  youth  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "that's 
just  plain  horse-sense." 

"Blasphemy"  was  the  next  word  given  out. 
It  was  John  McNeil's  turn  to  spelL 

"B-1-a-s-p-h-e-m-y — A  contemptuous  treat 
ment  of  God. ' '  McNeil  spoke  clearly  and  glanced 
toward  Ann  as  if  for  approval. 

After  fifteen  minutes  of  spelling,  half  the 
lines  were  seated.  Ann  Eutledge,  John  McNeil 
and  Lincoln  were  standing.  It  was  John's  turn 
again. 

"Belict." 

"K.e-1-e " 

"Next!"  said  the  master,  and  the  word 
crossed  the  line  to  Ann. 

"E-e-1 "  she  hesitated  a  moment  and 

glanced  toward  Abe  Lincoln  who  now  stood  op 
posite  her.  He  had  raised  his  hand  to  his  face 
and  one  of  his  long  fingers  pointed  to  his  eye. 

"E-e-1-i-ot "  she  said  slowly — "A  relict 

is  a  woman  whose  husband  is  dead." 

Again  there  was  a  titter  and  somebody  whis 
pered  quite  audibly,  "John  McNeil."  But  Mc 
Neil  was  not  laughing.  He  had  seen  Abe  Lincoln 
give  a  sign  to  Ann  that  had  made  her  a  better 
speller  than  him  self. 

143 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Gradually  the  lines  thinned  until  only  eight 
remained.  Then  the  master  gave  the  word 
' '  Seraphim. ' ' 

"S-e-r-y " 

"Next!" 

"S-e-r-r-y " 

"Next!" 

"S-a-r-a-h " 

"Next!" 

"C-e-r-i " 


"Next!" 

«C-e-r-y 

"Next!" 

"C-e-r-r-i 

"Next!" 

"S-e-r-r 


It  was  now  Lincoln's  time.  He  had  been  wait 
ing  coolly.  All  eyes  were  upon  him  as  he  slowly 
spelled,  "  S-e-r-a-p-h-i-m.  " 

"Correct!"  said  Mentor  Graham.  "Abra 
ham  Lincoln  is  the  champion  speller  of  New 
Salem  until  his  better  proves  himself." 

There  was  an  outburst  of  applause.  Lincoln 
started  to  take  his  seat,  but  the  master  motioned 
to  him  to  keep  his  place.  The  room  grew  quiet. 

144 


THE  SPELLING  MATCH 

"The  definition,  Abe  Lincoln?"  he  said. 

"The  kind  of  folks  we  may  associate  with  if 
we  keep  out  of  the  Slough  of  Despond,"  an 
swered  Lincoln. 

"Tell  us  where  you  got  it,"  Mentor  Graham 
said. 

' '  I  found  it  in  Bunyan  's '  Pilgrim 's  Progress ' 
one  night  as  I  lay  before  the  fire  tryin'  to  learn 
something  new.  There  was  a  wolf  howlin*  down 
in  the  timber.  I  tried  to  learn  a  new  word  be 
tween  each  howl.  This  was  the  third. ' ' 

John  McNeil  walked  home  with  Nance  Cam 
eron  after  the  spelling-match. 

"Where  is  John  McNeil?"  Mrs.  Rutledge 
asked  as  Ann  joined  them  just  outside  the  door, 
for  he  was  always  on  hand  to  walk  with  her. 

"He's  walking  home  with  Nance  Cameron," 
Ann  answered. 

"What's  that  for?" 

"I  guess  he  wants  to  tell  her  something," 
she  said.  But  she  too  wondered,  for  he  had  not 
spoken  to  her,  had  not  even  seemed  to  see  her, 
as  he  passed  with  Nance. 

Others  noticed  this  also,  among  them  Dr. 
Allen  and  Abe  Lincoln.  But  they  make  no  com 
ment  as  they  walked  down  the  roadway  together. 
10 


CHAPTEE  XV 

"WHO'S  AFKAID?" 

IT  WAS  Sis  Eutledge  who  broke  the  news  to 
Abe  Lincoln  that  Ann  said  he  was  afraid  of 
women.  She  went  over  to  the  store  on  an  errand 
and  tarried  a  few  moments,  as  she  always  did 
when  an  excuse  offered,  to  talk  with  the  tall, 
good-natured  clerk.  This  time  Mrs.  Green's 
quilting-bee  offered  an  excuse. 

"Goin'  to  Mis'  Green's  quiltin'-bee,  are 
you?"  Sis  questioned  with  a  sort  of  malicious 
innocence. 

"Men  don't  go  to  quiltin'-bees, ' '  Abe  Lincoln 
answered. 

"They  walk  as  fur  as  the  door,"  Sis  said. 
"But  you  ain't  like  none  of  the  rest  of  them. 
You  don't  spark  none  of  the  girls,  nor  take  none 
of  them  to  quiltin'-bees  nor  sugar  parties  nor 
nothing.  Ann  says  you  're  scared  of  petticoats. ' ' 

"Ann  Eutledge  says  I'm  afraid  of  petticoats, 
eh?  Tell  Ann  I'm  comin'  by  this  evenin'  to  see 
her." 

With  this  astounding  piece  of  news  Sis  hur 
ried  to  Ann.  She  did  not,  however,  report  that 

146 


"WHO'S  AFRAID?" 

part  of  the  conversation  which  might  have  ex 
plained  to  Ann  why  he  was  coming. 

"Is  John  McNeil  going  with  you  to  Mrs. 
Green's  quiltin'-bee? "  Abe  asked  when  she  oame 
out  to  see  what  he  wanted. 

"No — John  cannot  go." 

"Would  he  care  if  I  walked  over  with  you 
and  the  rest  of  them?" 

"I  don't  think  he  would.  We'll  all  be  going 
together. ' ' 

"I'll  be  on  hand  then,"  and  this  was  all  Ann 
knew  of  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Eutledge  had  gone  over  early  that  morn 
ing  to  assist  Aunt  Sallie  Green — getting  ready 
for  such  an  important  social  function  as  a  quilt- 
ing-bee  was  no  small  matter. 

First,  there  was  the  quilt  to  put  in  the  frames 
and  the  thread  and  chalk  and  strings  to  have 
handy,  and  then  there  was  the  dinner,  which  took 
several  days  to  prepare.  The  feature  of  most 
interest  at  the  bee  itself,  however,  was  not  the 
quilt  or  the  feast,  but  the  discussion  of  town 
topics,  for  women  met  at  the  bees  who  had  not 
had  an  opportunity  of  discussing  neighborhood 
news  for  weeks,  and  the  time  was  never  long 
enough  to  tell  it  all. 

147 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

At  Mrs.  Green's  one  of  the  first  topics  for 
discussion  was  the  postponed  marriage  of  Ann 
Butledge  and  John  McNeil.  "Ann  promised  to 
marry  John  McNeil  and  will  sometime,"  Mrs. 
Butledge  said,  "but  her  father  wants  her  to 
have  a  good  education,  and  he  says  there  is  no 
hurry  in  gettin '  her  off. ' ' 

"I  wouldn't  take  no  chances  in  havin'  an  old 
maid  in  the  family,  if  I  was  you,  Mis '  Butledge, ' ' 
said  Mrs .  B  ens  on.  "I  hate  <to  give  up  my  Pho  ebe 
Jane  to  Windy  Batts,  but  I  never  would  forgive 
myself  if  I  stood  in  her  way  and  caused  her 
to  be  an  old  maid. ' ' 

"Is  Phoebe  Jane  going  to  marry  Windy 
Batts?"  was  asked. 

"Yes,  I've  consented.  Windy 's  goin'  out 
to  convert  the  heathens  of  the  West.  He  thinks 
he'll  tackle  the  Indians  and  preach  the  Gospel 
and  Phoebe  Jane's  goin'  with  him  to  sing." 

What  did  you  Hard  Shells  turn  Mentor 
Graham  out  of  your  company  for?"  Mrs.  But 
ledge  asked.  "He's  the  finest  man  in  New 
Salem." 

"It  was  his  views  on  abstinence.  Sunday 
schools,  mission  societies,  temperance  societies, 
nor  none  of  such  things  is  authorized  in  the 

148 


"  WHO'S  AFRAID  ?  " 

Bible;  you  know  they  ain't,  Mis'  Eutledge. 
Well,  if  they're  not  authorized,  they're  a  snare 
and  delusion.  Don't  meddle  with  God's  busi 
ness,  we  say,  and  that's  what  a  body  does  that 
talks  against  dram-drinkin'  and  tries  to  start  a 
society. ' ' 

"Dr.  Allen  says  rum  and  such  drinks  is 
poison — real,  sure  enough  poison,"  Aunt  Sallie 
Green  remarked. 

This  statement  opened  a  lively  discussion. 

"Yes,"  said  one,  "and  Dr.  Allen  couldn't 
get  no  sort  of  office  after  making  a  remark  like 
that.  Nobody  can  get  anywhere  without  dram- 
drinking." 

"Abe  Lincoln  don't  drink  anything  stronger 
than  cider." 

"And  he  goes  with  the  Clary  Grove  bunch, 
too.  Wonder  how  he  manages." 

* '  No  telling.  The  Creator  broke  up  the  mold 
after  Abe  Lincoln  was  made.  He  isn't  like  no 
human  mortal  I  ever  seen." 

"Some  folks  says  he's  crazy,"  Mrs.  Benson 
volunteered. 

"It  was  lazy  I  heard  he  was,"  another  said. 

' '  I  heard  he  was  dead  sure  to  go  to  the  Legis 
lature,  crazy  or  no  crazy. ' ' 

149 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He's  always  reading  something.  Looks  like 
he'd  have  all  the  books  read  through  after 
awhile.  Wherever  he  walks  he  reads." 

"Yes,  and  I've  found  him,  sprawled  all  over 
the  cellar  door  reading, "  Annt  Sallie  Green  said. 

"And  did  you  ever  see  him  lyin'  under  that 
tree  in  front  of  the  store  with  his  back  to  the 
ground  and  his  long  legs  reaching  up  the  tree  I 
Phoebe  Jane  said  he  'd  better  watch  or  his  legs 
would  grow  on  up  like  bean-vines." 

"And  somebody  thought  it  was  so  funny, 
they  went  and  told  him, ' '  added  Mrs.  Cameron. 

"Mercy!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Benson;  "was  he 
mad?" 

"No.  He  said  he'd  learned  a  new  verse — 
something  about  seeing  ourselves  as  others  see 
us — he  wasn't  mad,  though. ' ' 

"And  they  do  say  he  hasn't  got  but  one  shirt 
to  his  back — that  he  sends  what  little  money 
he  gets,  off  to  his  step-mother." 

"And  that  he  never  looks  at  none  of  the 
girls.  Is  this  true,  Mis '  Cameron  I ' ' 

"He  don't  seem  to.  The  time  we  had  that 
woman  from  Virginia  and  her  two  daughters, 
he  slept  at  the  store  on  the  counter  every  night. 
But  he 's  obliging  that  way  when  we  're  crowded. ' ' 

150 


"WHO'S  AFRAID?" 

"The  men  all  say  he's  famous  in  stump 
speaking,  wrestling  and  story- telling." 

"And  the  women  like  him  because  he's  hon 
est,  kind  to  women  and  forgetful  of  himself. ' ' 

uHe  has  a  good  turn  for  everybody  and 
everything,  from  rabbits  to  such  poor  stuff  as 
Snoutful  Kelly.  But  he  don't  show  no  attention 
to  girls." 

"Maybe  he  has  a  girl  at  Gentryville  or  back 
on  Pigeon  Creek." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Mrs.  Cameron  said, 
"and  I'd  be  apt  to  know." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  much  about  his  affairs, 
only  he  never  looks  at  Ann,"  Mrs.  Rutledge  ob 
served.  "He  really  don't  pay  as  much  heed 
to  Anns  as  he  does  to  Sis,  and  that's  little  enough. 
I  don't  suppose  he  knows  what  color  her  eyes 
are  or  her  hair." 

It  was  at  this  stage  of  the  visit  that  the 
young  people  were  heard  coming  across  the 
fields,  shouting  and  laughing. 

Several  of  the  women  arose  and  looked  out. 

"Will  you  look!"  Mrs.  Benson  exclaimed. 
' '  There  's  Abe  Lincoln  himself ! ' ' 

"And  he's  with  Ann  Butledge,"  Mrs.  Arm 
strong  observed. 

151 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

11  Abe  Lincoln  with  Ann?"  Mrs.  Rutledge 
said,  hurrying  to  the  door. 

For  the  moment  she  looked  bewildered.  Then 
she  said,  "He's  wanting  something — and  just 
happened  to  walk  with  Ann. ' ' 

"Just  hear  him  laugh,"  said  Aunt  Green; 
"I'm  glad  he's  come.  He's  a  fine  hand  to  take 
care  of  the  baby. " 

At  the  door  the  other  boys  in  the  party  de 
clined  to  come  in.  Not  so  with  Lincoln. 

"Howdy,  ladies,  howdy — howdy!"  he  said, 
lifting  his  hat  gallantly.  "May  I  come  in? 
I've  heard  tell  of  New  Salem  quiltin'-bees  and 
I'd  like  to  see  how  it 's  done. ' ' 

His  welcome  was  as  hearty  as  his  self -invi 
tation,  and  a  few  moments  later  he  found  himself 
tucked  behind  the  quilting-frame  beside  Ann 
Rutledge  who  was  said  to  be  the  best  quilter 
in  New  Salem. 

Ann  took  out  her  needles,  thread,  thimble 
and  emery  bag.  The  end  of  a  chalked  string 
was  tossed  to  her  and  she  quickly  made  a  few 
white  lines. 

"See  the  pattern,  Abe?"  Mrs.  Cameron 
asked.  "It's  a  tulip  design,  red  flowers  and 
green  leaves.  The  blue  is  the  pot  it's  growing 

152 


"WHO'S  AFRAID?" 

in. "  In  a  few  moments  the  company  was  quilt 
ing  and  conversation  had  again  begun. 

"We  was  just  settin'  in  to  talk  about  Peter 
Cartwright  and  the  way  he  prayed  the  dancin' 
out  of  the  legs  in  this  community, ' '  Hannah  Arm 
strong  explained. 

' '  I  agree  with  him, ' '  Mrs.  Benson  said ; ' '  I  'm 
down  on  all  huggin',  whether  settin'  or  standin' 
still  or  movin'  about.  I  haven't  brought  Phoebe 
Jane  up  the  huggin '  way.  If  I  had,  Windy  Batts 
wouldn't  have  picked  her  to  help  him  convert 
the  Indians. ' ' 

Abe  Lincoln  whispered  something  to  Ann 
about  a  hugging-match  and  laughed. 

"I  liked  his  singing,"  Mrs.  Armstrong  said. 
"I  thought  I'd  cry  my  eyes  out  that  night  he 
sung  'Down  the  dark  river  where  the  dark  wil 
lows  are  weeping  night  and  day. '  I  never  felt 
so  near  a  grave-yard  in  my  born  days.  Every 
body  in  the  camp  was  mourning  for  some  loved 
one." 

" Wasn't  that  the  same  night  he  got  around 
to  eternal  punishment  and  the  thundering  smell 
of  smoke?"  asked  Mrs.  Eutledge.  "I  heard  it. 
After  they  got  started  they  kept  going  until 


morning. ' ' 


153 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

While  the  religious  question  was  being  dis 
cussed  Abe  Lincoln  was  watching  the  nimble 
fingers  of  Ann  Eutledge  as  with  one  hand  on  the 
top  side  and  one  under  the  quilt  she  wove  the 
tiny  white  stitches  on  the  red  and  green  and  blue. 

Presently  the  hand  of  Abe  Lincoln  disap 
peared  under  the  quilt.  The  next  minute  a  look 
of  surprise  showed  on  Ann's  face  as  she  -whis 
pered,  ' '  Turn  loose  of  my  hand. ' ' 

"I'm  just  trying  to  learn  how1  it's  done,"  he 
whispered  back. 

Ann  looked  about.  Nobody  was  paying  any 
attention  to  them.  She  tried  to  move  her  hand 
but  it  was  held  as  fast  as  if  in  a  vice. 

"I '11  holler,"  she  said. 

"No,  you  won't,"  he  whispered  back. 

Then  Ann  jerked  her  hand  and  for  the  mo 
ment  it  was  free. 

She  bent  her  slightly  flushed  face  over  the 
quilt  and  was  soon  making  the  white  stitches 
again. 

But  Lincoln's  hand  was  yet  under  the  quilt, 
and  before  she  had  crossed  the  red  tulip  she  felt 
her  hand  again  imprisoned. 

"Let  go,"  she  whispered,  turning  a  flushed 
face  to  him  and  trying  to  work  with  one  hand. 

154 


"  WHO'S  AFRAID  ?  " 

"I  can't,  I've  got  to  hold  on  to  somethin'. 
I  'm  afraid  of  women, ' '  was  the  answer. 

The  words  were  whispered  in  her  ear.  The 
flush  on  Ann's  face  deepened.  She  cast  a  glance 
around  the  quilt.  Several  were  now  looking  at 
her  and  saw  that  she  was  confused.  Her  one 
free  hand  was  working  rapidly,  but  the  stitches 
were  being  set  crooked. 

For  a  moment  or  two  her  hand  was  held  in 
its  prison.  Once  more  he  whispered,  "Afraid 
of  women  am  I,  little  Ann  Kutledge?" 

An  instant  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  He 
had  never  known  they  were  such  beautiful  violet 
blue.  They  were  full  of  appeal,  and  Abe  Lincoln 
could  almost  see  tears  coming. 

He  dropped  her  hand,  and  crawling  out  from 
behind  the  quilt,  presented  himself  before  Aunt 
Sallie  and  offered  his  services. 

"I  can  wash  dishes,  carry  wood,  rock  the 
baby,  do  anything  that's  needed,"  he  said. 

"A  man  like  you  ought  to  have  a  woman," 
Aunt  Sallie  Green  observed. 

"I'm  afraid  of  women,"  he  answered,  laugh 
ing  with  boyish  merriment. 

Ann's  face  colored  again  slightly,  but  she 

joined  the  laugh  with  the  others. 

155 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"  Beady  to  go,  Ann  Butledge?"  he  said  when 
the  party  was  over. 

"I  am  waiting  for  mother,"  she  answered 
with  quiet  dignity. 

He  langhed.  ' l  Who 's  afraid  ? "  he  whispered 
as  they  started  home.  But  Ann  walked  beside 
her  mother. 

This  did  not  prevent  word  going  out  that 
Abe  Lincoln  was  shining  up  to  Ann  Butledge. 
What  other  reason  on  earth  could  there  be  for 
a  young  man  attending  a  quilting-bee  and  sit 
ting  by  her  and  getting  her  all  nervous  right 
in  the  middle  of  her  tulip-quilting. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

POLITICS   AND   STEAMBOATS 

THERE  was  considerable  local  pride  in  the 
pioneer  hamlet  of  New  Salem,  and  Abe  Lincoln 
had  entered  into  it  with  enthusiasm  from  the 
beginning  of  his  citizenship.  While  he  was 
ever  present  at  political  meetings  and  never 
silent,  his  opinion  was  that  local  needs  were 
more  pressing  than  national  questions. 

There  were  several  needs  which  he  contin 
ually  urged.  As  good  roads  were  at  present 
out  of  the  question  he  advocated  river  traffic. 
"With  boats  plying  the  Sangamon  River,  freight 
could  be  brought  to  their  very  door,  and  the 
farmer's  produce,  on  the  sale  of  which  depended 
the  future  of  the  country,  could  be  marketed 
at  such  a  saving  of  time  and  money  as  would 
make  the  difference  between  failure  and  success. 

So  clearly  did  the  young  politician  set  forth 
this  need  that  he  soon  had  the  majority  of  the 
men  of  the  village  of  the  same  opinion.  An 
other  matter  which  he  considered  of  first  im 
portance  was  the  education  of  all  children  in 
free  schools.  This  matter  he  also  emphasized, 
showing  in  his  crude  but  effective  way  that  the 

157 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

future  of  Democracy  depends  on  the  education 
of  the  masses. 

Having  impressed  his  opinions  on  the  men  of 
the  town  their  next  question  was  how  to  get  these 
laws.  The  logical  answer  was,  to  elect  to  their 
law-making  body  a  representative  of  these  views. 

Then  it  was  that  the  uncouth  young  back 
woodsman,  without  a  dollar  in  the  world  and 
scarce  a  change  of  clothing  to  his  back,  was 
asked  to  represent  Sangamon  County  in  the  next 
Legislature. 

He  agreed  to  do  so,  and  issued  a  circular 
addressed  to  the ' '  People  of  Sangamon  County. ' ' 
In  it  he  took  up  all  the  leading  questions  of  the 
day:  railroads,  river  navigation,  internal  im 
provements,  and  usury.  He  dwelled  particularly 
on  the  matter  of  public  education,  alluding  to 
it  as  the  most  important  subject  before  the  peo 
ple.  The  closing  paragraph  was  so  constructed 
as  to  appeal  to  the  chivalrous  sentiments  of 
Clary  Grove.  "I  was  born  and  have  ever  re 
mained,"  he  said,  "in  the  most  humble  walks 
of  life.  I  have  no  wealthy  or  popular  relatives 
or  friends  to  recommend  me.  My  case  is  thrown 
exclusively  upon  the  independent  voters  of  the 
county ;  and  if  elected  they  will  have  conferred  a 
favor  upon  me  for  which  I  shall  be  unremitting 

158 


POLITICS  AND  STEAMBOATS 

in  my  labors  to  compensate.  But  if,"  he  con 
cluded,  "the  people  in  their  wisdom  shall  see 
fit  to  keep  me  in  the  background,  I  have  been 
too  familiar  with  disappointments  to  be  very 
much  chagrined. " 

A  little  after  this  the  wonderful  news  was 
announced  that  a  steamboat,  already  on  the 
Sangamon  River,  was  to  pass  New  Salem.  The 
captain  had  sent  word  that  he  wanted  one  of 
the  representative  men  of  the  place  to  help  him 
bring  the  boat  to  the  village.  Abe  Lincoln  was 
the  man  selected.  A  company  of  boys  and  young 
men  also  got  together  and  with  long-handled  axes 
set  out  on  horseback  to  go  along  the  bank  ahead 
of  the  boat  and  clear  tree  branches  out  of  the  way. 

It  was  a  time  of  great  excitement  and  preg 
nant  with  meaning,  for  here  already,  were  signs 
that  Lincoln's  dream  of  river  traffic  might  be 
brought  to  pass. 

Hours  before  the  appointed  time  the  villagers 
were  out,  looking  up  at  the  sun  to  count  the 
passing  of  time,  or  gazing  down  the  river  be 
tween  the  green  branches.  Speculation  was  rife, 
and  there  were  those  who  boldly  declared  they 
never  expected  to  lay  eyes  on  a  real  steamboat, 
owing  to  their  peculiar  habit  of  blowing  them 
selves  up. 

159 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Almost  to  a  minute  of  the  announced  time,  as 
the  sun  stood,  a  shrill  whistle  sounded  over  the 
woods  and  fields  and  river — a  strange  sound 
for  the  quiet  of  the  new  country.  Then  came  the 
distant  shouts  of  the  branch-cutters  as  they  came 
riding  down  the  banks  swinging  their  long- 
handled  axes. 

Comment  hushed  to  an  occasional  whisper 
as  every  head  was  turned  and  every  eye  strained 
to  catch  a  first  glimpse  of  the  first  steamboat 
that  ever  sailed  the  Sangamon. 

Ann  Rutledge  was  there.  She  was  looking 
for  a  man  as  well  as  for  a  boat — a  man  she  had 
first  seen  scarce  a  year  before.  The  plums  had 
been  in  blossom  then.  It  was  too  early  for  them 
now.  But  she  had  her  bonnet  ready  to  wave. 

As  the  boat  came  in  sight  a  great  cheer  went 
up  from  New  Salem  on  the  bank.  It  was  an 
swered  by  the  ringing  voice  of  a  man  on  board 
the  steamer,  a  taller  man  than  any  of  the  others, 
who  waved  his  hat  and  shouted  across  the  water : 
"Hurrah  for  the  Sangamon!*'  There  were 
other  messages,  and  then  a  loud,  long  cheer  from 
the  bank:  "Hurrah  for  Abe  Lincoln!" 

The  tree-cutters  passed,  singing  and  laugh 
ing.  The  boat  steamed  by  like  a  bird.  The 

160 


POLITICS  AND  STEAMBOATS 

people  waved.  As  the  boat  neared  the  bank 
where  Ann  Eutledge  and  her  mother  and  Mrs. 
Cameron  and  Nance  stood,  Abe  Lincoln  lifted 
his  hat  and  held  it  clear  of  his  head,  and  Ann 
waved  her  bonnet  and  laughed  and  sang  a  snatch 
of  song. 

As  the  boat  passed  from  view  the  shrill  whis 
tle  sounded  several  times.  Ann  listened. 

"Nance,"  she  said,  "I  like  the  horn  better 
than  the  whistle.  The  horn  has  a  gentleness, 
and  it  makes  me  think  of  plum  blossoms.  I  would 
like  to  hear  it  again,  just  as  it  sounded  a  year 
ago.  The  whistle — it  is  hard — it  sounds  like 
blackberry  briars." 

Nance  laughed.  "But  thorns  go  with  black 
berries,"  she  said;  "and  travel  must  have  its 
thorns,  too,  if  it  keeps  up  with  what  Abe  Lin 
coln  calls  progress." 

John  McNeil  joined  the  girls. 

"Ann,"  he  said,  "you  look  very  happy  to 
day." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "I'm  so  glad  about  the 
steamboat. ' ' 

"  It 's  just  about  a  year  since  Abe  Lincoln  first 
saw  this  town, ' '  he  observed. 

"Yes — it  was  April  19th,  last  year." 

"You  remember  the  date  well." 

11  161 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"That  was  the  day  I  found  the  first  plum 
blossoms." 

"And  you  found  them  just  in  time  to  wave 
at  Abe  Lincoln. ' ' 

' '  I  was  glad  he  got  his  boat  off  the  mill  dam. ' ' 

' '  Ann,  what  do  you  suppose  Abe  Lincoln  came 
to  New  Salem  for?" 

"Maybe  the  same  thing  you  did,  John." 

"I  came  to  make  money,  and  I'm  making  it. 
He  didn't  come  to  make  money.  He  don't  know 
how  to  make  money  and  never  will.  Besides 
he  gives  away  all  he  does  get  hold  of." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  found  out.  And  who  do  you  suppose  he 
gives  it  to  T ' 

"I  don't  know." 

"His  step-mother — step-mother!"  and  there 
was  a  strange  tone  in  his  voice  whether  of  con 
tempt  or  pity,  Ann  could  not  tell. 

"Perhaps  she  is  old  and  helpless,"  she  said. 

"Well,  suppose  she  is,  she's  only  his  step 
mother.  If  a  man  ever  expects  to  get  ahead  he 
must  save  his  pennies  and  let  them  make  other 
pennies  for  him.  That's  the  way  to  make 
money." 

"I  guess  you  know,  John."  Ann  answered 
rather  absently. 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

CAPTAIN  LINCOLN- 
JOHN  BUTLEDGE  and  John  McNeil  were  dis 
cussing  Abe  Lincoln  as  they  sat  around  a  low- 
burning  fire  on  an  early  April  evening.  John 
Rutledge  had  just  announced  it  as  his  opinion 
that  Abe  Lincoln  had  uncommon  stuff  in  him  and 
would  make  his  mark  in  the  world  some  way. 

"I  think  Abe  is  a  fine  fellow,"  John  an 
swered,  "but  he'll  never  get  anywhere." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"He  doesn't  know  enough  to  get  on  the  right 
side  of  a  question.  He's  always  taking  up  for 
something  like  nigger  slaves.  How's  a  man 
going  to  get  anywhere  in  politics  taking  up  with 
such  notions?" 

"I've  never  heard  him  say  much  about  negro 
slaves,  on6  way  or  another,"  Eutledge  said. 
"But  the  general  principle  of  one  man  being 
held  as  property  by  another  man,  that's  what 
Abe  Lincoln  gets  after,  and  I  think  he's  right." 

* '  Do  you  know  what  he 's  taking  up  for  now  ?  > ' 
John  McNeil  asked. 

' '  Haven  »t  heard.   What  is  it  T  " 

163 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

" Indians,  he's  taking  up  for  our  enemies  the 
Indians.  A  lot  of  the  fellows  were  talking  about 
the  Indians.  Ole  Bar  was  telling  the  way  they 
poison  their  arrows.  He  told  some  of  the  most 
blood-curdling  cruelties  you  ever  heard. ' y 

1 '  And  Abe  Lincoln  took  up  for  the  cruelties  1 ' ' 

"Not  exactly  that,  but  he  said  the  Indians 
didn't  do  any  worse  than  we  would.  They  try 
to  kill  us  and  go  at  it  the  best  way  they  know 
how.  We  try  to  kill  them  and,  having  bullets 
instead  of  arrows,  kill  more  of  them.  Besides, 
he  says  this  country  belonged  to  them  before 
it  did  to  us,  and  we  got  it  just  as  a  big  dog  gets 
a  bone  away  from  a  little  dog.  And  he  said 
more.  He  said  that  we,  professing  to  be  civilized 
and  Christians,  break  our  promises  and  treaties 
worse  than  they  do." 

Eutledge  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
slowly  exhaled  a  thin  cloud  of  smoke.  Then  he 
said :  "Well,  John,  the  only  thing  the  matter  with 
this  is  that  it's  all  true." 

1 '  Maybe  so, "  McNeil  admitted.  '  *  But  what  'a 
it  going  to  get  him,  taking  up  for  slaves  and 
Indians." 

"And  poor  little  children  whose  fathers  beat 
them,  and  women  dying  alone  in  the  forest?" 

164 


CAPTAIN  LINCOLN 

It  was  A  Tin  who  asked  this  question.  She 
had  been  sitting  by  her  little  sewing-table,  mend 
ing  stockings. 

''That's  what  I'm  asking,"  John  McNeil 
repeated.  * ' How's  a  man  going  to  make  money, 
fighting  customers  who  swear  in  his  store,  or 
leaving  his  shop  to  hunt  folks  who  have  paid  him 
a  penny  too  much ;  or  to  get  votes,  taking  up  for 
folks  that  haven 't  any !  * ' 

The  young  man  spoke  quite  seriously.  John 
Kutledge  laughed  and  then  said:  "It's  the  prin 
ciple  of  things  that  counts.  At  present,  however, 
only  local  issues  are  being  discussed.  On  these 
Abe  Lincoln  is  what  we  want." 

"You'll  lose  your  vote  if  you  cast  it  for  him. 
He'll  never  get  anywhere  politically.  Mark 
what  I  tell  you." 

It  was  only  a  few  days  after  this  that  the  en 
tire  New  Salem  community  was  thrown  into 
great  excitement  by  news  of  an  Indian  invasion. 
Treaties  had  been  broken  and  Black  Hawk,  the 
head  of  the  warring  Sacs,  was  again  on  the 
war  path. 

A  company  was  immediately  formed  in  New 
Salem  to  go  out  against  the  redskins.  WMle  the 

165 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

organization  was  yet  forming,  a  demand  was 
made  for  Abe  Lincoln  as  captain. 

He  had  a  rival  for  the  position  and  the  choice 
was  to  be  made  by  vote,  each  man  as  he  voted  to 
take  his  place  behind  the  man  of  his  choice. 
The  voting  progressed  briskly.  When  it  was 
finished  the  line  headed  by  Abe  Lincoln  was  three 
times  as  long  as  that  of  his  rival.  Great  cheers 
were  given,  and  Lincoln  himself  was  exuberant 
with  joy.  A  good  horse  was  brought  to  him, 
the  stirrups  were  lengthened,  and  he  mounted. 
Some  there  were  who  had  never  seen  him  on  a 
horse,  perhaps.  But  now  to  the  shouts  of  on 
lookers  and  members  of  his  company,  he  showed 
himself  a  horseman  of  experience  and  the  angu 
lar  lines  of  his  body  took  on  a  really  military 
bearing. 

"With  horses  prancing  and  men  shouting  and 
calling,  a  parade  was  formed  to  march  up  the 
one  street  of  New  Salem.  It  was  a  motley  crowd, 
some  of  them  in  buckskin,  some  in  foxed  and 
homespun  breeches,  with  a  generous  sprinkling 
of  coon-skin  caps,  that  formed  the  company  of 
Captain  Lincoln.  In  addition  to  the  Clary  Grove 
gang,  "Wolf  Creek  patriots  were  there  and  the 
rowdies  from  Sand  Town,  and  it  was  freely 

166 


CAPTAIN  LINCOLN 

conceded  by  the  cool-headed  men  of  New  Salem 
that  not  a  man  could  handle  such  a  crowd  save 
Abe  Lincoln. 

Ann  Eutledge  looked  on  with  smiling  face 
and  clapped  her  hands  and  shouted  when  Lincoln 
went  prancing  by  on  his  good  horse,  his  face 
bright  with  excitement  and  his  black  hair  flying 
back  from  his  forehead  in  the  wind.  But  a 
shadow  came  over  her  face  the  night  after  the 
parade,  and  during  the  next  few  days,  when 
every  woman  in  town  was  foxing  breeches  for  the 
Company,  she  tried  to  see  him,  for  she  had  some 
thing  to  say. 

Unable  to  find  an  opportunity  she  sent  Sis 
to  tell  him  Ann  had  something  to  give  him  before 
he  went  away. 

He  came  at  once,  and  Mrs.  Kutledge  told 
him  Ann  was  somewhere  in  the  back  yard. 

He  found  her  in  the  garden  where  a  few 
peach  trees  were  struggling  into  bloom. 

"I've  come,  Ann,"  he  said,  stopping  before 
her.  ' '  You  sent  for  me,  didn  't  you  ?  ' ' 

' '  Yes,  Abraham  Lincoln.  There  rs  something 
I  want  to  say  to  you  before  you  go  away.  I've 
been  holding  it  against  you — but  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  I  forgive  you." 

167 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

" Forgive  me!"  he  said  in  astonishment. 
"What  did  I  ever  do  to  you  that  I  should  need 
forgiveness  for?" 

"Don't  you  remember  the  quilting-beel" 
she  asked,  her  face  flushing  slightly. 

"And  you  forgive  me?" — he  asked  the  ques 
tion  seriously.  Then  he  laughed.  "Don't  for 
give.  Forgiveness  might  tempt  me  to  do  it 
again.  Just  remember  as  I  go  away  that  I'm 
not  afraid  of  wolves  or  bears  or  catamounts  or 
snakes  or  Indians,  or  any  living  creature — ex 
cept  women.  It 's  women  I  'm  afraid  of, ' '  and  he 
laughed. 

The  flush  yet  showed  on  Ann's  face  and  her 
voice  was  a  bit  unsteady  as  she  said,  "And 
there's  something  else." 

"What  is  it,  Ann?" 

"I — I  don't  want  anything  to  harm  you.  I 
want  you  to  come  back  sound  and  well. ' ' 

There  was  pleading  in  her  eye  and  a  hint  of 
quaver  in  her  voice. 

Abe  Lincoln  regarded  her  thoughtfully  a  mo 
ment.  Her  blue  eyes  did  not  shift  before  his 
steady  gaze. 

1 '  Why  do  you  want  me  to  return  unharmed  f ' ' 
he  asked. 

168 


CAPTAIN  LINCOLN 

"Because  you  are  kind  to  the  weak  and  for 
gotten  folks  of  earth,  and  not  many  think  of  this 
kind :  because  I  think  often  what  the  child  said. ' ' 

"  What  child?" 

"The  beaten  and  abused  child  of  old  Kelly 
that  you  saved  from  more;  pain." 

"What  was  it  the  child  said?" 

"  'God  came/  "  she  said.  "  'And  his  name 
was  Abe  Lincoln. '  : 

There  was  an  almost  imperceptible  twitching 
in  Abe  Lincoln's  face. 

"There  are  many  children,"  she  continued, 
"many  suffering,  sad  and  helpless  ones  who  need 
a  strong  friend  to  help  them.  My  father  says 
you  have  a  future.  I  want  you  to  come  back 
to  your  future." 

"Do  not  fear  for  me.  I  will  come  back — 
to  my  future.  Good-bye."  And  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"First,  may  I  pin  a  sprig  of  wild  plum  on 
your  coat  for  luck?  It's  almost  too  early  for 
them  yet  and  I  searched  the  thicket  before  I 
found  this,  which  looks  as  if  it  had  only  half 
opened  its  white  eyes,  but  it  gives  out  its  spring 
time  fragrance  to  stir  up  happy  memories  and 
hopes." 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Abe  Lincoln  held  out  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 
"Look  at  me,  Ann,"  he  said  when  she  had  fas 
tened  the  flower  there. 

She  raised  her  eyes.  They  were  rimmed  with 
tears. 

Abe  Lincoln  stared  a  minute  as  if  wholly 
unable  to  comprehend  the  girl;  then  he  said: 
"Good-bye,  Ann,  take  care  of  yourself,"  and 
he  turned  hurriedly  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"BOOKS  BEAT  GUNS,  SONNY " 

IT  WAS  the  tenth  day  of  July  when  Abe  Lin 
coln,  who  had  for  weeks  been  struggling  through 
the  swamps  and  forests  of  Michigan  territory 
in  pursuit  of  the  fleeing  Black  Hawk,  turned  his 
face  homeward. 

The  journey  was  made  with  many  hardships. 
The  remnant  of  the  Company  went  hungry  for 
days,  and  to  make  matters  worse  several  horses 
were  stolen,  among  them  Abe  Lincoln's. 

A  portion  of  the  long  way  home  was  made 
down  the  Illinois  River  in  a  canoe.  The  most 
of  it,  however,  was  tramped,  and  it  was  a  jaded, 
foot-sore  and  ragged  ex-captain  that  arrived 
in  New  Salem  the  latter  part  of  July. 

Nobody  knew  he  was  coming,  no  prepara 
tions  had  been  made  for  him,  and  when  he  went 
to  his  former  home  at  the  Camerons '  he  learned 
that,  owing  to  an  increase  in  the  size  of  the 
family,  there  was  no  longer  bed  space  for  him, 
but  that  John  Rutledge  had  said  he  could  lodge 
at  the  Inn. 

This  was  about  the  best  news  he  could  have 

171 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

heard,  and  tattered  and  weary,  yet  with  head 
held  high  and  smiling  face,  he  presented  himself 
at  Rutledge  Inn. 

His  welcome  here  was  hearty  and  genuine, 
every  member  of  the  family,  even  to  Ann,  trying 
to  make  him  feel  at  home  and  all  alike  impatient 
to  hear  the  story  of  his  travels. 

"Did  you  see  the  Indians  scalp  anybody?" 
Sonnie  asked  excitedly. 

"No — but  we  got  there  after  half  a  dozen 
had  just  been  scalped.  We  came  upon  them  in 
the  early  mornin'  just  as  the  red  sun  fell  over 
their  bodies.  There  were  small,  red  marks  on 
top  of  the  heads.  The  men  were  scouts  who  had 
been  surprised.  One  wore  buckskin  breeches." 

"And  did  your  men  always  give  ready  obedi 
ence!"  asked  Davy. 

"Most  of  the  time  they  did.  Once  I  came 
near  havin'  a  riot  with  them.  An  aged  Indian 
bearin'  a  safe-conduct  pass  from  General  Cass 
came  to  camp.  He  was  footsore,  hungry  and 
weary.  The  men  did  not  want  to  receive  him. 
They  said  he  was  a  spy  and  should  be  killed,  and 
they  made  plans  to  kill  him.  Just  as  they  were 
about  to  proceed,  their  six-foot-four  Captain 
arrived  and  stopped  proceeding.  This  angered 

172 


"BOOKS  BEAT  GUNS,  SONNY  " 

the  men.  One  of  them  shouted  at  me  that  I  was 
a  coward.  I  told  him  to  choose  his  weapon  and 
step  out  and  we  'd  see  who  was  the  coward.  This 
he  did  not  do.  The  frightened  old  Indian  was 
sent  on  his  way  in  safety. " 

"It  was  a  hard  campaign  for  you,  and  with 
little  results, ' '  Rutledge  remarked. 

"Hard,  yes — but  not  without  results.  There 
are  different  kinds  of  results,  you  know,  Mr. 
Eutledge.  I  didn't  kill  any  Indians,  but  I  had 
far  better  luck  than  that.  I  got  acquainted  with 
Major  John  T.  Stuart  of  Springfield,  who  asked 
to  be  of  service  to  me." 

"What's  he  going  to  do  for  you?'*  asked 
Davy.  * '  Give  you  a  fine  gun  or  sword  1 ' ' 

"Better  than,  that,  Son,  he  is  goin'  to  let  me 
use  his  books." 

"Books!"  Sonny  exclaimed,  and  the  boy's 
voice  was  so  charged  with  disgust  they  all 
laughed. 

"Yes,  books,"  Abe  Lincoln  replied.  "Rat 
tlesnakes  and  panthers  and  Indians  know  the 
fightin'  game  and  have  weapons  for  the  purpose, 
but  this  sort  of  fightin'  will  never  make  the 
world  a  better  place  to  live  in.  If  the  world  ever 
gets  to  be  the  kind  of  a  place  you  ask  God  for 

173 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

when  you  pray,  'Thy  kingdom  come,'  it's  eomin' 
by  brains  and  hearts  instead  of  by  claws  and 
fangs.  You  can't  shoot  sense  nor  religion  into 
a  man  any  more  than  you  can  beat  daylight  into 
the  cellar  with  a  club.  Take  a  candle  in,  and  the 
thick  darkness  disappears ;  just  so  give  the  peo 
ple  knowledge  and  their  ignorance  and  intoler 
ance  and  other  devilment  will  disappear.  I 
haven't  lived  so  powerful  long  yet,  but  I  have 
lived  long  enough  to  make  up  my  mind  that  for 
the  good  of  all  mankind  books  beat  guns, 
Sonny." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ABE  MAKES  A  SPEECH 

WHEN  Abe  returned  from  his  few  months 
of  service  in  the  Black  Hawk  War,  he  learned 
that  his  political  opponent,  Peter  Cartwright, 
had  been  making  the  most  of  his  opportunity. 

Abe  Lincoln  had  announced  his  candidacy 
before  he  went  away,  but  had  had  no  time  even 
to  plan  a  speaking  tour.  Peter  Cartwright  had 
remained  on  his  itinerary  and  had  been  speaking 
to  large  audiences.  The  weapon  Cartwright  had 
been  using  against  his  opponent  with  most  tell 
ing  effect  was  the  implied  charge  that  he  was  an 
infidel. 

While  Captain  Lincoln  had  been  gone  from 
New  Salem  a  minister  had  come  to  the  hamlet 
to  make  his  home,  and  was  already  one  of  the 
circle  composed  of  Mentor  Graham,  Dr.  Allen, 
William  Green,  John  Eutledge,  and  other  of  Abe 
Lincoln's  good  friends. 

Even  before  his  return  these  friends  had 
discussed  the  matter  of  religion  as  it  pertained 
to  the  success  of  this  candidate,  and  had  decided, 
especially  since  Cartwright  was  making  much 

175 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

capital  out  of  the  fact  that  Abe  Lincoln  was  not 
a  church  member,  that  he  should  become  one. 

Accordingly  he  was  called  into  council  and 
the  case  set  before  him. 

"It  is  not  necessary  that  I  go  to  the  Legis 
lature  to  keep  my  own  self-respect,"  he  said  to 
them.  "It  is  necessary,  however,  that  I  deal 
honestly  with  myself,  and  it  would  be  neither  fair 
to  me  nor  to  your  society  for  me  to  become  a 
member,  since  I  do  not  believe  as  you  claim  to. 
I  have  no  use  whatever  for  a  God  that  plots 
against  innocent  children  and  helpless  women, 
encourages  murder,  that  throws  rocks  down  on 
honest  soldiers  and,  as  recorded,  does  many 
other  foolish  and  wicked  things  which  would 
shame  a  decent  Indian.  I'm  familiar  with  the 
Good  Book — too  familiar  to  swallow  some  por 
tions  of  it  whole.  Whenever  you  get  together 
on  the  rule  'Love  your  neighbor*  that  Jesus 
himself  taught,  I'll  join  you." 

"Cartwright  is  making  much  of  your  refusal 
to  be  counted  with  Christians. ' ' 

"And  by  doin'  just  this  thing  Cartwright 
is  provin'  himself  either  ignorant  of  the  Con 
stitution  of  the  United  States  or  knowingly  be 
traying  it.  Our  Constitution  stands  forever  for 

176 


ABE  MAKES  A  SPEECH 

the  separation  of  Church  and  State,  of  religion 
and  politics.  If  my  common,  everyday  horse- 
sense  will  not  let  me  believe  in  purgatorial  fires, 
what  has  that  to  do  with  making  Sangamon  River 
navigable?  If  I  haven't  any  better  sense  than 
to  pray  to  an  image,  that's  my  affair  so  long 
as  it  is  not  allowed  to  enter  into  or  affect  my 
public  policies,  or  I  do  not  try  to  inflict  it  on 
someone  else.  This  is  what  I  make  out  of  our 
Constitutional  guarantee  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty.  I  haven't  had  much  chance  to  go  to 
school.  I  haven't  had  many  books  to  study. 
But,  gentlemen,  I've  eaten  up  the  Constitution 
of  our  country  and  digested  it  a  dozen  times  over. 
I  may  get  its  meaning  wrong.  I  think  I  'm  right. 
If  I  am,  then  Cartwright  is  wrong — just  as 
wrong  as  I  would  be  to  campaign  against  him 
because  he  preaches  hell  fire  and  eternal  punish 
ment,  which  to  me  is  as  damnable  a  doctrine  as 
my  lack  of  such  belief  can  ever  be  to  him. ' ' 

"Abe  Lincoln,"  said  John  Rutledge,  "I  be 
lieve  you,  are  right.  Stand  by  your  guns.  You 
may  lose  now  but  you  will  come  out  all  right  in 
the  long  run. ' ' 

Abe  Lincoln's  first  appearance  on  the  stump 
in  this  campaign  was  at  Pappsville,  a  small  place 

12  177 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

eleven  miles  west  of  Springfield.  A  public  sale 
had  been  advertised  and  the  young  candidate 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  chance  to  get  a 
hearing. 

After  the  sale  a  friend  who  had  accompanied 
him  went  about  shouting,  " Public  speaking! 
Draw  near !  Draw  near ! ' ' 

The  crowd  soon  collected,  for  every  man  was 
interested  in  a  stump  speech. 

Hardly  had  the  crowd  gathered  than  a  fight 
started  and  a  general  row  seemed  inevitable. 

Seeing  a  friend  of  his  being  pushed  about  by 
the  rough  crowd,  Abe  Lincoln  jumped  from  the 
platform,  and,  rushing  into  the  crowd,  began 
shouldering  the  excited  men  apart  so  that  his 
man  could  get  out.  Finally,  he  pushed  against 
a  man  who  turned  about  and  defied  him.  "With 
out  a  word  he  grabbed  the  man  by  the  neck  and 
the  seat  of  the  breeches  and  tossed  him  a*  dozen 
feet.  This  act  had  a  quieting  effect  on  the  fight 
and  the  fighters  stopped  to  see  what  manner 
of  political  candidate  this  was  who  could  pitch 
men  about  as  a  farmer  pitches  a  shock  of  wheat. 

What  they  saw  on  the  rude  platform  was  an 
unusually  tall,  ungainly  and  homely  young  fel 
low,  who  wore  a  mixed-jeans  coat,  bob- tailed  and 

178 


ABE  MAKES  A  SPEECH 

short-sleeved,  pantaloons  made  of  flax  and  tow, 
linen,  a  straw  hat  and  pot-metal  boots. 

His  speech  was  short.  He  said,  "Gentle 
men  and  fellow-citizens,  I  presume  yon  all  know 
me.  I  am  humble  Abraham  Lincoln.  I  have 
been  solicited  by  my  friends  to  become  a  candi 
date  for  the  Legislature.  My  politics  are  short 
and  sweet  like  the  old  woman's  dance.  I  am  in 
favor  of  a  national  bank.  I  am  in  favor  of  the 
internal  revenue  system,  education  for  every 
body,  and  a  high,  protective  tariff.  These  are 
my  sentiments  and  political  principles.  If 
elected  I  shall  feel  thankful.  If  not,  I  am  used 
to  defeat  It  will  be  all  the  same. '  ' 


CHAPTEE  XX 

STORY  OF  A  BOY 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  was  not  elected  to  the 
Legislature.  He  received,  however,  every  vote 
in  New  Salem  except  three,  and  his  friends  had 
hopes  that  he  might  yet  develop  into  something — 
nobody  knew  just  what. 

Meantime  some  changes  had  been  made  in 
mercantile  affairs  in  New  Salem  and  the  store 
of  Offutt  was  no  more.  This  left  Abe  Lincoln 
without  a  job. 

An  opportunity  offered  for  him  to  secure  a 
store  of  his  own.  A  store  owned  by  another  man 
had  not  long  since  been  raided  by  the  Clary 
Grove  gang.  After  drinking  all  the  "wet 
goods,"  they  broke  the  glassware,  tied  bottles 
to  the  tails  of  their  horses,  and  with  a  whoop 
and  a  yell  went  riding  about  the  country. 

Abe  Lincoln  had  no  money,  but  with  a  young 
fellow  named  Berry,  whose  father  was  a  leading 
Presbyterian  citizen,  he  bought  the  store  and 
they  gave  their  notes  in  payment. 

Certain  it  was  the  Clary  Grove  gang  would 
not  molest  Lincoln's  store.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  would  have  fought  to  protect  it. 

180    . 


STORY  OF  A  BOY 

In  fitting  up  this  store  Lincoln  and  Berry 
took  out  a  tavern  license,  which  gave  them  the 
right  to  sell  liquor  in  small  quantities.  All  stores 
kept  liquor.  Yet  this  fact  did  not  make  it  seem 
right  that  one  who  did  not  drink  himself,  who 
knew  the  trouble  it  made  others,  who  even  agreed 
with  Dr.  Allen  that  it  was  poison,  should  keep 
a  barrel  of  whiskey  in  the  corner  of  his  store, 
and  more  than  one  discussion  between  Abe  Lin 
coln  and  the  good  doctor  were  engaged  in  during 
these  days. 

Several  treasures  came  into  possession  of  the 
junior  member  of  the  firm  after  Berry  and  Lin 
coln  opened  their  store.  Lincoln  one  day  bought 
a  barrel.  What  it  contained  he  did  not  look  to 
see.  It  was  a  good  barrel.  The  man  said  it  had 
a  book  or  two  down  under  the  papers,  and  as  he 
needed  the  few  cents  badly,  the  purchase  price 
was  paid  and  the  barrel  put  aside. 

When  some  weeks  later  the  contents  was 
poured  out  Abe  Lincoln  discovered  a  treasure. 
He  deserted  his  store  long  enough  to  run  over 
to  Rutledge  's  to  make  known  his  wonderful  good 
luck.  His  homely  face  was  bright  with  pleasure 
and  his  dull,  gray  eyes  were  shining  as  he  held 
out  a  worn  and  stained  copy  of  Blackstone. 

181 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Look!  Look!"  lie  cried,  and  in  his  joy  he 
even  tried  to  dance  a  jig. 

Another  rich  posssession  that  came  to  him 
was  a  volume  of  poems  containing  one  that 
he  especially  liked,  the  title  of  which  was 
"Immortality." 

This  poem  Abe  Lincoln  wanted  to  read  the 
Rutledges  as  they  sat  around  the  fire  on  an  early 
fall  evening. 

But  Davy  did  not  like  the  sound  of  the  first 
verse  and  asked  for  a  story  of  the  killing  of 
Abe  Lincoln's  grandfather  by  Indians.  When 
this  was  told  he  wanted  to  hear  about  the  voodoo 
fortune-teller  in  New  Orleans  and  the  slave- 
markets  and  the  ships  in  the  harbor. 

So  Lincoln  told  these  things  while  John  Eut- 
ledge  smoked  and  Mrs.  Eutledge  and  Ann  busied 
their  fingers  with  their  mending,  meantime  lis 
tening  with  as  much  interest  as  the  children  to 
their  boarder's  talk. 

After  Davy's  stories  had  been  told  it  was 
Sonny's  turn.  "Tell  about  when  you  were  a 
little  boy, ' '  he  urged ; ' '  that 's  what  I  want. ' ' 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  acceptable  to 
the  entire  family  than  this,  for  he  had  never  said 
much  about  his  own  aff airs. 

182 


STORY  OF  A  BOY 

"The  little  boy  you  ask  me  to  tell  about,"  he 
said,  "lived  far  away  in  a  dense  forest;  wild 
cats  screamed  down  the  ravines ;  wolves  howled 
across  the  clearin' ;  bears  growled  in  the  under 
brush.  The  house  this  little  boy  lived  in  was  not 
much  better  than  the  cave  or  the  den  of  the  ani 
mals.  It  was  built  of  logs  but  had  no  floor,  no 
windows,  and  no  skin  hung  to  the  door.  In  a  loft 
above  the  one  room  was  a  nest  of  leaves  and  into 
this  he  climbed  at  night  on  pegs  driven  into  the 
wall. 

"Though  he  was  very  poor,  this  little  boy 
was  rich  in  one  thing,  and  that  was  his  mother. 
She  toiled  until  her  shoulders  were  stooped  and 
thin,  her  face  pale  and  her  clearr  gray  eyes  dim 
and  sad,  but  she  was  never  too  tired  to  love  her 
children,  the  boy  and  his  little  sister  Sarah. 
She  could  read  well  and  had  brought  into  the 
wilderness  three  books:  the  Bible  which  she 
read  daily,  'Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and  Aesop's 
'Fables.'  Before  the  boy  learned  to  read  she 
told  them  stories  from  these  books  in  the  yellow 
light  of  a  pine  torch  which  burned  upon  the 
hearth,  and  the  boy  minded  not  the  cry  of  wolves, 
nor  wind,  nor  sleet,  when  he  could  hear  these 
wonderful  stories. 

183 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

* '  The  boy  was  taught  many  things  that  boys 
on  the  frontier  must  know.  He  learned  early  to 
skin  animals  and  fix  the  hides  for  clothes  but 
he  was  never  a  hunter.  He  some  way  felt  that 
the  animals  had  a  right  to  life,  just  as  he  had. 
They  knew  what  it  was  to  be  hungry  and  cold 
and  to  sleep  in  leaves.  It  was  a  funny  notion, 
but  the  boy  felt  in  a  way  they  were  his  brothers 
and  he  never  killed  them. 

"After  he  learned  to  read  he  spent  hours 
on  the  floor  lyin'  in  the  firelight  with  the  Bible 
spread  before  him,  spellin'  out  the  words  and 
learnin'  the  verses  until  he  had  read  the  Book 
many  times. 

"When  he  was  nine  years  old  his  mother 
made  him  a  linsey-woolsey  shirt  and  possum- 
skin  cap  to  wear  with  his  buckskin  breeches  and 
sent  him  away  through  the  woods  to  school.  He 
only  went  for  a  few  weeks.  The  boys  in  this 
school  put  coals  on  terrapin's  backs.  He  was 
not  quick  to  learn  from  his  books  but  he  made 
speeches  against  this  cruelty,  and  his  first  fight 
was  with  a  boy  for  robbin'  a  bird's  nest. 

"In  one  school  he  went  to  for  a  short  time 
later,  a  master  named  Crawford  taught  manners. 
He  made  one  boy  stand  at  the  door.  When  the 

184 


STORY  OF  A  BOY 

pupils  came  up  they  were  taught  to  lift  their  hats 
and  were  introduced  to  each  other.  This  teacher 
said  manners  were  as  important  as  book- 
knowledge. 

"The  boy  only  went  to  school  a  few  weeks 
altogether,  when  he  was  hired  out  by  his  father 
to  work  from  sunrise  to  sunset  for  twenty-five 
cents  a  day.  Still  he  studied,  and  a  cousin  named 
Dennis  Hanks  helped  him.  They  made  ink  with 
blackberry  root  and  copperas.  They  made  pens 
of  turkey-buzzard  feathers.  When  they  had  no 
paper,  which  was  most  of  the  time,  they  wrote 
on  boards  with  charred  sticks.  The  boy  figured 
on  a  wooden  shovel  and  scraped  it  off  clean  when 
it  was  too  full  to  hold  more  figures. 

"His  mother  was  always  interested  in  his 
effort  to  get  an  education.  She  always  helped 
him.  She  was  sorry  for  him  because  he  could  not 
go  to  school,  but  urged  him  to  learn  so  that  he 
would  not  always  be  in  the  backwoods. 

1 1  Once  he  borrowed  from  the  Crawford  man 
who  taught  the  school  a  book  entitled  'Weems' 
Life  of  Washington ! '  It  told  about  our  coun 
try  '&  struggle  for  freedom,  how  the  Hessians 
were  fought  and  how  Washington  crossed 
the  Delaware.  He  pored  over  it  until  the  night. 

185 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He  took  it  up  into  a  loft  and  pnt  it  in  a  ehink 
so  it  would  be  handy  for  early-morning  study. 
A  rain-storm  which  arose  in  the  night  beat  in 
on  the  book  and  swelled  the  covers.  The  boy 
took  the  book  back  to  its  owner  the  next  znarnin' 
and  offered  to  buy  it.  The  man  made  him  pull 
fodder  three  days  for  it.  The  book  belonged 
to  the  boy  now.  He  read  it  over  and  over  until 
he  became  well  acquainted  with  the  Father  of  his 
Country  and  began  to  dream  dreams  of  what 
he  might  some  day  do." 

Abe  Lincoln  had  been  talking  in  a  reminiscent 
mood  with  a  half -smile  on  his  face.  The  smile 
now  passed.  He  continued :  ' '  Then  death  came 
into  the  settlement  and  took  several  neighbors. 
The  mother  of  the  boy  was  stricken  down.  She 
was  thirty-five  miles  from  a  doctor  and  her 
nearest  neighbor  was  dead.  Seven  days  she  lay, 
her  children  doin'  for  her.  Then  she  called  the 
children  to  her  bedside.  To  the  boy  she  said, 
'Be  an  honest  and  a  faithful  boy,  be  a  good  and 
tender  man.  Look  after  your  sister.'  Then 
death  came  into  the  shack  of  a  house  and  took 
the  patient  mother. 

"The  boy's  father  built  a  coffin  and  dug  a 
grave  in  the  clearin'  near  the  house,  and  here 

186 


STORY  OF  A  BOY 

in  the  edge  of  the  dense  forest  where  the  wild 
things  lived  the  tired  mother 's  body  was  put  to 
rest.  There  was  no  preacher  to  say  a  last  word, 
there  was  no  music  but  the  singin'  and  the 
sighin'  of  the  trees.  There  was  no  one  to  cover 
the  rude  coffin  with  earth  but  the  father.  There 
were  no  mourners  but  the  two  children,  holdin' 
hands  beside  the  grave  and  callin'  their  mother 
to  come  back. 

"After  the  mother  had  gone  the  little  girl 
tried  to  cook  and  keep  house.  The  boy  went 
every  day  to  the  edge  of  the  forest.  Very  soon 
the  tangle  began  to  reach  over  his  mother's 
grave.  He  wanted  her  to  have  a  funeral  ser 
mon.  It  was  not  that  he  thought  she  needed  it. 
He  was  sure  she  was  with  God  all  straightened 
up  and  no  longer  thin  but  always  smilin'  and 
glad.  But  she  would  have  wanted  a  sermon,  she 
had  spoken  of  it. 

' '  So,  the  boy  wrote  a  letter  to  a  good  Baptist 
minister  his  mother  had  known  back  in  Ken 
tucky  and  told  him  what  was  wanted.  It  was 
nearly  one  year  later  that  he  came  a  distance  of 
eighty  miles  to  preach  the  sermon.  All  the 
people  in  the  country  came;  not  before  had  a 
funeral  been  preached  when  a  woman  had  so 

187 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

long  been  sleepin'  in  her  grave.  And,  as  they 
gathered  about,  their  faces  were  wet  with  tears. 
The  boy  never  forgot  it,  nor  the  preacher's 
words. 

"That  little  boy  is  a  man  now.  Early  one 
mornin'  years  ago  he  went  for  a  last  time  to  the 
lonely  grave  and  kneelin'  there,  promised  his 
mother 's  God  again  that  he  would  be  honest  and 
tender.  And  whatever  that  boy  is  now  or  ever 
may  be,  he  will  owe  to  that  angel  mother  lyin' 
under  the  wild  tangle  at  the  edge  of  the  forest 
with  God's  stars  watchin'  it  until  the  judg 
ment-day." 

It  was  quite  still  around  the  low-burning 
fire  when  he  ended  his  story.  Then  John  Rut- 
ledge  spoke  abruptly,  "Davy,  don't  you  see  the 
fire  needs  a  log?  Sonny,  put  Tige  out,  he's 
scratching  down  the  house.  Ann,  bring  a  pitcher 
of  cider  and  a  plate  of  apples. ' ' 

"Put  a  few  sweet  turnips  in,"  Abe  Lincoln 
added;  "there's  nothing  better  than  a  turnip." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

AFTER  Abe  Lincoln  went  to  Rutledges'  to 
board,  time  seemed  to  go  faster  and  more  pleas 
antly  than  ever  in  his  life  for  him.  John  Rut- 
ledge  was  not  only  an  agreeable  gentleman,  but 
he  was  an  unusually  well-informed  man  for  a 
pioneer,  and  he  and  the  little  coterie  of  friends 
passed  many  winter  evenings  discussing  topics 
of  local  and  national  interest. 

Abe  Lincoln  spent  very  little  time,  however, 
at  the  Rutledge  home.  There  were  many  debates 
and  public  meetings  during  the  winter,  all  of 
which  he  attended.  His  treasured  Blackstone 
was  being  read  and  digested  with  the  same  thor 
oughness  he  had  given  Washington  and  the  Con 
stitution  and  the  Bible.  In  addition  to  this  he 
had  secured,  at  no  small  outlay  of  time  and  ex 
pense,  a  grammar,  said  to  be  the  only  one  in  the 
county,  which  he  was  eagerly  learning.  He  was 
also  making  the  acquaintance  of  Shakespeare, 
with  which  he  was  immoderately  delighted,  and 
which  he  had  announced  he  would  learn  by  heart, 

189 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

as  he  had  much  of  the  text  in  the  few  books  he 
possessed. 

Besides  his  newly  acquired  Blackstone  and 
Shakespeare,  Lincoln  was  making  trips  to 
Springfield  to  borrow  from  Major  Stuart  what 
seemed  to  the  country  youth  an  inexhaustible 
wealth  of  books. 

So  it  happened  that,  nights  when  there  was 
no  meeting  of  any  kind,  Abe  Lincoln  studied 
alone  in  the  store  or  sometimes  at  the  cooper 
shop,  where  warmth  and  light  were  given  him. 

The  winter  of  the  busy  year  came  early  to 
New  Salem,  and  the  hamlet  was  wrapped  in  a 
sheet  of  white  which  covered  the  roadways  and 
fields,  and  draped  the  bluffs,  and  bent  the  boughs 
of  the  forest  trees.  The  streams  were  muffled 
and,  save  where  dark  spots  showed  water  moving 
sluggishly,  were  hidden  under  the  white  blanket. 
Cattle  huddled  by  the  haystacks  and  in  barns, 
and  in  the  log  houses  great  fires  blazed  on  the 
hearths  and  the  store  of  candles  was  drawn  on 
heavily  to  make  light  for  the  long  evenings  when 
the  housewives  used  the  time  to  spin  and  knit. 

It  was  a  bitter,  cold  night  that  Abe  Lincoln 
after  supper  sat  a  few  minutes  by  the  fire.  John 
Eutledge  had  gone  to  Springfield  and  would  not 

190 


ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

return  until  next  day.  There  was  no  meeting, 
and  Mrs.  Eutledge  and  Ann  thought  perhaps 
their  boarder  would  spend  the  evening  with 
them. 

The  wind  blew  low  and  seemed  to  hug  close 
to  the  earth  and  move  silently  and  stealthily  as 
if  trying  to  envelop  some  victim  unaware.  The 
snow  crunched  at  the  slightest  tread.  The 
hearth-fire  had  never  seemed  so  good. 

Abe  Lincoln  and  Ann  were  alone  in  the  room. 
He  sat  before  the  fire  looking  at  the  coals;  she 
was  getting  her  spinning  ready. 

Rising  suddenly  he  took  his  hat  and  gray 
muffler  from  the  peg  on  the  wall. 

"You're  not  going  out,  Abraham?"  Ann 
inquired. 

"Yes — I'm  going  over  to  Muddy  Point." 

"To  Muddy  Point?"  Ann  exclaimed  setting 
her  wheel  down. 

"Yes.  I  have  it  as  straight  as  the  crow  lies 
that  Snoutful  Kelly's  wife  and  children  are 
actually  sufferin'  for  food.  Do  you  suppose 
your  mother  will  fix  up  a  basket  f ' ' 

"Of  course — but,  Abraham — this  is  the  cold 
est  night  of  the  winter !  Mother !"  Ann  called 
rather  excitedly,  "come  here!" 

191 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Mrs.  Rutledge  entered  with  a  yellow  bowl  in 
which  she  was  beating  buckwheat  batter  to  put 
by  the  fire  to  rise  for  breakfast  cakes. 

' '  Mother ! ' '  exclaimed  Ann.  ' '  Abraham  says 
he  is  going  to  Muddy  Point." 

Mrs.  Eutledge  turned  and  stared  at  Abe 
Lincoln  a  moment  as  if  to  make  sure  he  were 
there.  Then  she  said,  "Are  you  joking, 
Abraham  I" 

1  f  No,  indeed — I  'm  goin '.    Old  Kelly 's  wife  is 
sick  and  the   children   are  hungry.    I   got  it 
straight,  and  I  can't  sit  by  this  warm  fire  so  com-  « 
fortable  and  think  of  them  suffering  I've  got 
to  go." 

"But,  Abraham  Lincoln,  there  is  not  another 
person  in  New  Salem,  not  a  living  soul  of  them, 
that  would  do  it  such  a  night  as  this. ' ' 

Abe  Lincoln  laughed.  Then  he  said, '  *  That 's 
all  the  more  reason  I  must  go.  Will  you  send  a 
basket?" 

' '  To  be  sure — but  it 's  an  awful  cold  night  and 
you  haven't  any  long-coat." 

"I'll  walk  fast  enough  to  keep  warm,"  he 
assured  her.  "If  folks  waited  until  all  signs 
were  right  for  doin'  these  little  things,  they'd 
never  get  done.  We  only  pass  this  way  but  onc£, 

192 


ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

you  know.    Any  good  thing  we  can  do  we  must 
do  as  we  go — we  don't  come  back." 

Mrs.  Eutledge  stood  looking  at  the  tall,  un 
gainly  youth.  For  a  moment  his  face  seemed  to 
be  beautiful  as  the  firelight  fell  on  its  strong 
lines.  Then  without  a  word  she  returned  to  the 
kitchen.  In  a  moment  she  called  Ann  to  come 
and  help  her.  Abe  went  out,  too,  and  together 
they  fixed  a  basket  and  covered  it  well  so  that  it 
would  not  be  frozen  when  delivered. 

Abe  Lincoln  was  not  warmly  clad  for  cold 
weather.  Ann  thought  of  this  as  he  stood  be 
fore  the  fire  holding  his  big  square  muffler. 

"This  will  keep  me  warm,"  he  said,  wrap 
ping  it  about  his  throat. 

"You  haven't  any  gun,"  Ann  said 
"Wolves  killed  three  of  William  Green's  pigs 
yesterday,  and  last  week  there  was  a  great  big 
catamount  at  Honey  Grove. " 

"Do  you  remember  what  I  did  to  Arm 
strong?  I  did  a  catamount  that  same  way  once. 
I  always  carry  my  weapons.  God  fastened  them 
to  me  so  tight  I  can't  leave  them." 

Ann  and  her  mother  laughed.  Abe  Lincoln 
went  out  into  the  cold ;  and  they  heard  the  sharp 

crunching  of  the  snow  under  his  quick  footsteps. 
13  193 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"I'm  going  to  spin  to-night,  Mother,"  Arm 
said.  "You  don't  care  if  I  put  the  kettle  on 
and  make  Abraham  something  hot  to  drink  when 
he  comes  home,  do  you  ? ' ' 

"A  very  good  idea,"  Mrs.  Rutledge  said. 
After  she  had  done  some  mending  she  put  the 
water  pail  by  the  fire,  hung  a  roll  of  pork  saus 
age  on  the  wall,  and,  after  having  taken  other 
precautions  to  insure  a  good  warm  breakfast 
when  everything  would  be  frozen  up  the  next 
morning,  she  went  to  bed,  and  Ann  was  left  to 
spin  and  to  think. 

Never  was  Ann  Eutledge  long  alone  that  she 
was  not  singing.  So  now,  as  her  wheel  turned  in 
the  firelight,  she  began  to  sing  a  glad  song 
full  of  life  and  hope  and  joy  crowded  into  the 
words  and  melody  of  the  old  tune,  "G,  how  I 
love  Jesus!" 

As  the  fire,  eating  its  way  through  the  back 
log,  told  the  passage  of  time  she  stopped  and 
listened.  The  kettle  was  steaming  and  on  the 
kitchen  table  was  a  plate  of  food  waiting  to  be 
brought  in. 

At  last  the  crunching  of  the  snow  under 
heavy  footfalls  told  her  he  was  coming.  But 
she  only  turned  her  wheel  a  little  faster  and 

194 


ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

sung  a  little  heartier  as  lie  entered,  lest  lie 
should  know  she  had  been  watching. 

1 '  0,  how  I  love  Jesus ! ' '  Abe  Lincoln  hummed 
as  he  came  by  the  fire  and  rubbed  his  hands; 
"go  on  with  your  song  and  your  work.  "While 
I  get  warm  I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

"Once  there  was  a  great  camp-meetin',"  he 
began,  settling  himself  in  John  Rutledge's  big 
splint-bottom  chair.  "There  was  an  exhorter 
named  Barcus  who  helped  stir  things  up  to  the 
boilin'-over  point.  Among  those  who  got 
shoutin'  happy  was  a  fair  and  fond  sister. 
Brother  Barcus  and  the  sister  both  danced  and 
shouted  toward  each  other.  When  they  met,  he 
said,  his  benign  countenance  shinin'  with  joy, 
1  Sister,  do  you  love  Jesus  ? '  '  Oh,  yes, '  she  whis 
pered  rapturously;  'yes — yes — yes.' 

"  'Then  kiss  brother  Barcus,'  was  this  shep 
herd  's  advice  to  his  beloved  sheep." 

Abe  Lincoln  settled  back.  Ann  laughed. 
Then  she  said,  "Abraham,  we  are  bad;  you  for 
telling  such  a  story  and  I  for  listening." 

"No,  we  are  good,"  he  corrected,  "you  for 
not  askin'  the  woman's  name  and  I  for  not  tellin' 
whether  she  kissed  Brother  Barcus. " 

Again  Ann  laughed.    Then  she  glanced  at 
195 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Abe  Lincoln  and  from  him  to  the  peg  where  his 
hat  hung. 

' '  Where  is  your  muffler  1 ' '  she  asked.  ' '  You 
didn't  lose  it,  did  you?" 

The  tall  man  looked  into  the  fire  a  moment 
before  saying,  "No — I  gave  it  away." 

"Gave  it  away?" — and  there  was  a  tone  of 
disappointment  in  her  voice. 

"Yes.  I'll  tell  you  about  it.  When  I  got 
out  to  Kelly's  I  found  the  poor  woman  in  bed, 
and  a  new-born  baby.  The  little  thing  didn't 
have  any  clothes  or  any  warm  blanket  to  wrap 
around  it.  I  looked  at  that  fine,  thick,  warm, 
wool  muffler  all  made  by  your  hands,  and  I  hated 
to  give  it  up.  But  that  baby,  Ann — it  was  such 
a  little  helpless  thing  and  so  pitiful,  and  its 
mother's  eyes  looked  in  such  a  hungry  way  at 
that  gray  muffler,  I  couldn't  help  it.  So  I 
wrapped  it  up  myself.  And  I  felt  that  if  you 
had  been  there  you  would  have  done  the  wrap- 
pin'.  In  fact,  I  could  see  you  foldin'  the  warm 
cover  around  that  poor  little  thing.  You  would 
have  done  it — wouldn't  you,  Ann!" 

"Yes,  Abraham." 

"I  was  sure  of  it.  Perhaps  you'll  make  me 
another  some  time.  Now  go  on  with  your 

196 


ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

spinnin'  and  your  song.  It  is  the  best  music  a 
tired  man  could  ever  hear. ' ' 

Ann  turned  the  wheel  a  few  times,  but  she  did 
not  sing.  "When  a  woman  gets  loving  Jesus," 
he  observed,  "it's  a  sign  she's  lovin'  somebody 
else.  Who  do  you  love,  Ann  ? ' ' 

This  unexpected  question  took  Ann  quite  by 
surprise. 

'  *  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  am  engaged 
to  marry  John  McNeil.  And  don't  you  think  he 
is  one  of  the  best  young  men  in  town?"  There 
was  a  suggestion  of  appeal  in  the  question. 

' '  I  am  sure  he  is — one  of  the  very  best  in  the 
county.  But  tell  me,  Ann,  what  it  is  to  love. 
You  know  the  spellin'  book  definition.  It's  in 
the  Bible,  too,  that  love  is  stronger  than  death. 
But  they  both  came  out  of  somebody's  mind 
first,  somebody  who  loved.  Tell  me  about  it." 

1 '  Why  should  I  know ! ' ' 

He  mused  a  moment,  then  he  said  as  if  to  the 
fire  instead  of  Ann:  "It  won't  be  until  I  know, 
that  I  promise  to  marry  a  woman. ' ' 

Ann  glanced  at  Lincoln.  He  seemed  for  the 
moment  unconscious  of  her  existence.  She  called 
him  from  his  reflections  by  speaking  his  name. 

"Abraham,"  she  said  as  the  wheel  spun 

197 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

slowly,  "I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,  a  confession 
to  make." 

He  was  all  attention  in  a  minute.  She 
dropped  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  moved  a  little 
way  from  behind  the  wheel. 

"Do  you  remember  the  camp-meeting,  and 
Brother  Cartwright  saying  you  were  a  deluded 
sinner,  and  saying  you  were  worth  praying  f  or  ? ' ' 

"Did  he?    I  believe  he  did." 

"Well,  since  that  night,  every  day  I  have 
been  remembering  you  at  the  throne  of  grace, 
but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  it  is  only  wasting 
time.  I  still  don't  understand  how  anybody  can 
be  saved  and  not  believe  in  hell,  and  you  do  some 
things  that  are  not  right,  like  the  day  at  the 
quilting-bee,  which  was  not  fair  to  John  McNeil. 
My  Bible  says,  'by  their  fruits  shall  men  be 
known,'  and,  Abraham,  your  life  bears  fruit, 
much  better  fruit  and  more  of  it  than  do  some 
of  those  who  call  you  a  sinner.  So  I've  decided 
it's  just  wasting  my  time  and  God's  to  pray  for 
you  any  more. ' ' 

In  the  moment  of  silence  that  followed  this 
speech,  Ann  turned  back  to  the  wheel. 

"Don't  spin,"  he  said;  "there's  something 
I  want  to  say." 

198 


ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

She  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  waited. 
There  was  no  sound  in  the  room  save  the  sputter 
of  the  fire.  A  bit  of  charred  wood  fell  into  the 
ashes.  Lincoln  took  the  tongs  and  threw  it 
back,  then  he  sat  looking  at  it. 

Presently  he  turned  to  Ann.  ' '  And  you  have 
been  rememberin'  me  at  the  throne  of  Grace? 
I  don't  know  anything  about  thrones  and  mighty 
little  about  grace,  for  the  grace  of  life  has  not 
been  my  portion.  But  this  is  what  I  want  to  say. 
If  a  man  can  get  to  God  through  the  intercession 
of  a  true  and  noble  and  pure-hearted  man,  as  all 
Christians  say  they  do,  I  don't  see  why  a  man 
can't  get  to  God  through  the  pleadin's  of  a  true 
and  noble  and  pure-hearted  woman. ' ' 

Ann  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Abraham," 
she  said. 

' '  I  mean  just  this — if  ever  I  reach  the  throne 
of  grace  where  just  men  get  nearer  glimpses  of 
God,  it  will  be  through— Ann  Eutledge.  Do  you 
understand  this  I" 

Ann's  eyes  had  not  for  an  instant  left  the 
figure  of  the  man  who  was  speaking.  The  homely, 
bronzed  face  in  the  frame  of  black  hair,  the 
slightly  stooping  shoulders,  the  big  hands 

199 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

stretched  at  full  length  on  the  arms  of  the  chair, 
made  a  firelight  picture  fascinating  to  the  girl. 
He  had  asked  a  question — she  had  not  answered 
it,  yet  she  leaned  forward,  and  after  studying 
his  face  a  moment  she  said,  "Abraham,  you  look 
as  if  you  were  starving.  I  must  get  you  some 
thing  to  eat ' ' ;  and  she  hurried  to  the  kitchen. 

Lincoln  leaned  forward  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands.  "It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  John  Mc 
Neil,"  he  seemed  to  hear  her  saying  again,  and 
with  a  deep  sigh  he  said  in  his  heart:  "Sep 
arated  by  the  rules  of  the  game  of  honor." 

"Ann,"  said  Mrs.  Eutledge  the  next  morn 
ing,  "what  did  you  and  Abe  Lincoln  find  to  talk 
about  so  long  last  night?" 

"Camp-meetings  and  mufflers  and  Kelly's 
new  baby, ' '  Ann  answered. 

"You  must  be  careful,  Ann,"  her  mother 
said.  "Your  word  is  out  to  John  McNeil  and  he 
has  a  good  start  in  life.  Abe  is  a  fine  boy  and 
honest  as  the  day  is  long,  but  he  hasn't  got  any 
thing  to  take  care  of  a  woman  on.  Besides,  he 
does  all  sorts  of  queer  things.  For  all  we  know 
he  may  yet  take  to  writing  poetry.  You  must 

not  give  him  any  encouragement.     Since  that 

200 


ONLY  WASTING  TIME 

quilting-bee  I 've  had  some  thoughts.  He  wasn't 
there  to  learn  to  quilt.  He'd  be  fearful  hard 
to  get  shut  of  if  he  got  in  love  good  and  hard." 

'  'He  has  no  idea  of  love  at  all, ' '  Ann  hastened 
to  assure  her  mother.  "He  doesn't  even  know 
what  it  means.  He  told  me  so." 

"That's  the  worst  kind  to  get  stirred  up. 
The  kind  that  just  naturally  knows  how  are 
always  having  attacks  of  love  the  same  as  they 
do  attacks  of  measles.  But  the  kind  that  has 
to  be  waked  up  and  taught  by  some  woman  have 
terrible  bad  cases.  Don't  you  get  Abe  Lincoln 
stirred  up." 

"He  doesn't  care  for  girls,  anyway — no  par 
ticular  ones.  He  likes  books  and  is  not  the  kind 
to  fall  in  love. ' ' 

"Love  can  pipe  through  any  kind  of  a  reed," 
was  Mrs.  Eutledge's  answer.  "Don't  stir  Abe 
Lincoln  up. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TOWN  TOPICS 

NOT  many  months  had  elapsed  after  Abra 
ham  Lincoln  went  into  the  "store  business" 
before  those  interested  began  to  feel  that  John 
McNeil  had  not  been  mistaken  when  he  said  Lin 
coln  would  not  be  a  success  as  a  business  man. 

After  everybody  else  in  town  was  questioning 
whether  or  not  the  store  was  making  money, 
Lincoln  himself  declared  it  was  petering1  out. 

This  in  no  way  interfered  with  his  story 
telling  and  studying  hours.  The  store  was  head 
quarters  for  political  and  all  other  kinds  of 
discussions,  and  study-hall  for  the  most  un 
wearying  scholar  in  the  village. 

So  it  happened  that  when  Abraham  should 
have  been  devising  schemes  to  make  money  he 
was  memorizing  Blackstone,  debating  some 
point  of  Constitutional  law,  or  working  out  some 
rule  of  grammar. 

Nor  was  this  the  worst.  While  Lincoln  was 
letting  the  store  go  to  ruin  for  lack  of  business 
skill  and  application,  his  partner,  Berry,  was 
drinking  up  the  wet  portion  of  the  stock. 

202 


TOWN  TOPICS 

John  McNeil  looked  on  with  disgust  and  made 
comments,  many  of  them  to  Ann  Rutledge.  She 
could  not  deny  them,  for  she  had  found  Abe  Lin 
coln  a  most  absent-minded  and  in  some  ways  a 
most  unsatisfactory  boarder. 

More  than  once  she  had  rung  the  bell  at  meal 
time  with  no  success  at  bringing  Abe  Lincoln  to 
the  table.  Once  when  she  was  sure  he  must  be 
half-starved  she  went  to  the  store  to  bring  him. 
She  found  him  stretched  on  the  counter  with 
head  propped  up  against  a  roll  of  calico,  deeply 
buried  in  a  dingy,  leather-bound  book.  When 
she  finally  drew  attention  to  herself  from  the 
book  he  said :  "Run  back  home,  Ann,  Blackstone 
is  making  a  point.  I'll  be  there  in  a  few 
minutes. ' ' 

Determined  that  he  should  eat,  after  waiting 
an  hour  she  went  back  to  the  store  carrying  a 
plate  of  food.  "Abraham  Lincoln,"  she  said, 
* '  you  Ve  got  to  eat. ' ' 

"What  for?" he  asked  absently. 

' '  Because  if  you  don 't  you  '11  get  to  be  nothing 
more  than  a  human  grapevine  and  you  won't 
even  be  as  good  looking  as  you  are  now." 

"What's  that?"  he  said,  looking  up  after 

203 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

finishing  the  sentence  he  was  reading.  "Say 
that  again." 

She  repeated  her  remark.  Lincoln  laughed. 
Then  he  said,  "Put  the  feed  on  the  molasses  bar 
rel.  I'll  get  it  in  a  minute,"  and  he  turned  back 
to  the  book. 

When  the  Lincoln  and  Berry  mercantile  com 
pany  had  so  far  gone  to  the  bad  that  the  end 
was  in  sight,  the  nominal  owners  sold  out  to  a 
couple  of  men  who  paid  them,  as  they  had  paid, 
with  notes. 

Free  from  the  store  Lincoln  was  now  ready 
for  another  occupation,  and  at  this  time  was 
appointed  postmaster,  a  very  small  job  since 
the  mail  came  but  twice  a  week  in  good  weather, 
with  pay  accordingly. 

It  gave  him  time  for  study,  however,  which 
he  continued  on  his  rounds  of  delivery,  for  with 
the  three  or  four  letters  that  might  come  in  a 
week  placed  carefully  in  the  top  of  his  hat,  he 
would  start  out  to  deliver  them.  Between  stops 
he  would  mount  a  fence  where  the  rails  crossed 
under  the  shade  of  some  tree,  and  here  he  would 
read  and  reflect  and  memorize,  oblivious  of  time 
or  men  or  finances. 

There  was  always  plenty  to  talk  about  in  New 

204 


TOWN  TOPICS 

Salem,  and  for  that  matter  plenty  to  do  the  talk 
ing.  The  last  baby's  first  tooth  had  a  signifi 
cance,  for  by  the  baby 's  age  might  be  forecasted 
the  time  of  the  next  one 's  arrival.  The  last  tooth 
of  the  oldest  citizen,  was  likewise  of  importance, 
as  it  called  out  all  the  best  recipes  for  mush  and 
other  nourishing  soft  edibles. 

Among  the  more  important  news  was  the  an 
nouncement,  after  he  had  served  some  months 
as  postmaster,  that  to  this  official  duty  Abe  Lin 
coln  was  to  add  the  most  important  one  of 
surveyor.  He  had  already  received  the  appoint 
ment  and  was  taking  lessons  in  figures  from 
Mentor  Graham,  preparatory  to  starting  out 
with  his  rod  and  chain.  ^ 

It  seemed  to  make  no  difference  in  Abe  Lin 
coln's  popularity  that  he  had  failed  as  a  business 
man.  He  was  still  considered  the  best  man  in 
town,  the  best  judge  or  referee,  an  authority  in 
disputes  and  a  peace-maker.  He  was  the  best- 
informed  man  on  general  subjects  and  the  gen 
tlest  as  well  as  the  strongest  man  among  them. 

His  wider  acquaintance  throughout  the 
county  served  to  enlarge  the  number  of  his 
friends,  and  New  Salem  politicians  again  decided 
to  make  him  their  candidate  for  the  Legislature. 

205 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

In  addition  to  his  new  professional  work, 
Abe  Lincoln  had  entered  the  ranks  of  the  re 
former  in  a  manner  as  strenuous  as  it  was 
unique. 

Having  become  exasperated  with  the  drunk 
enness  of  Snoutful  Kelly  and  the  consequent 
neglect  of  his  family,  Abe  Lincoln  and  a  sufficient 
corps  of  assistants  determined  to  get  some  sense 
into  his  head  by  a  new  way.  Accordingly  they 
captured  Kelly  while  lying  by  the  roadside  in  a 
drunken  sleep,  and  removing  him  quietly  to  the 
top  of  the  long,  sloping  street  at  New  Salem, 
proceeded  to  fasten  him  up,  in  an  empty  whiskey 
barrel,  which  they  started  on  its  way  down  hill. 

Long  before  the  barrel  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  road  it  gave  forth  such  sounds  as  never  dis 
graced  a  music-box,  and  the  men  waiting  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  roared  with  laughter  as  the  barrel 
went  its  way  down,  emitting  howl  after  howl, 
and  yell  after  yell,  as  it  bumped  its  course  to  the 
bottom. 

When  it  had  reached  its  stopping-point,  Lin 
coln  stood  it  on  its  end  and  through  the  bung 
hole  called  Kelly's  attention  to  the  ducking  he 
had  once  got  with  such  salutary  effect  and  made 
him  swear  by  the  God  above  him,  and  those  pres- 

206 


TOWN  TOPICS 

ent,  that  lie  would  never  touch  another  drop, 
lest  a  more  horrible  fate  should  befall  him. 

When  the  victim  of  reform  crawled  out  he 
was  brushed  off  by  Lincoln  and  given  a  handful 
of  change,  with  instructions  to  proceed  back 
where  he  got  his  whiskey,  which  he  had  relieved 
himself  of  in  the  barrel,  and  buy  some  meat  and 
flour  to  take  home. 

This  reform  experiment  had  not  been  adver 
tised.  But  it  was  town  talk  the  next  day.  The 
men  generally  said  it  was  a  good  thing  for  old 
Kelly.  Some  of  the  women  disagreed.  AnnBut- 
ledge  said  the  man  who  had  sold  whiskey  had 
no  business  punishing  the  man  who  drank  it. 

After  this  came  a  few  days  of  another  kind 
of  discussion  of  Abe  Lincoln.  It  was  rumored 
that  he  was  studying  to  be  a  lawyer.  Opinion 
was  divided  as  to  whether  this  would  make  a  man 
of  him  or  ruin  him. 

Mentor  Graham  and  Dr.  Allen  were  agreed 
that  he  already  knew  the  Constitution  as  well  as 
any  lawyer  in  Springfield  and  would  make  a 
good  lawyer.  To  others  it  seemed  a  pity  that  an 
otherwise  honest  citizen  should  aspire  to  nothing 
better  than  being  a ' l  limb  of  the  law, ' '  and  when 
Ole  Bar  heard  it  he  said  with  a  touch  of  real  sad- 

207 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ness,  "Lord  God,  has  Abry  Linkhorn  fallen  to 
this  ?  I  'd  ruther  he  'd  a  been  a  bar. ' ' 

Whatever  might  be  the  outcome,  New  Salem 
never  worried  long  over  any  one  matter.  There 
was  too  much  coming  on  afresh. 

The  next  topic,  and  one  that  especially  inter 
ested  the  female  portion  of  the  community,  was 
the  discovery  that  John  McNeil's  partner  was 
also  in  love  with  Ann  Eutledge. 

This  leaked  out  in  an  unexpected  way. 

Abe  Lincoln  being  everybody's  friend  and 
knowing  how  to  read  and  write,  was  often  called 
on  to  write  letters  for  less  educated  lovers,  for 
children  and  sometimes  for  business  men.  He 
also  read  for  those  who  could  not  read.  This 
was  expected  of  him  as  postmaster.  One  day  a 
schoolchild  brought  a  roll  of  written  matter  to 
him.  It  was  composed  of  bills  from  the  Hill 
and  McNeil  store.  But  inside  was  a  letter  from 
Hill  to  McNeil  charging  that  if  McNeil  had 
played  fair,  his  partner,  too,  might  have  had 
some  chance  to  win  the  fair  Ann  Rutledge. 

When  Abraham  Lincoln  read  this  letter  he 
was  for  some  reason  well  pleased,  and  he  under 
stood  why  Hill  was  always  so  exceptionally  nice 
to  Ann  Eutledge  and  gave  her  better  bargains 

208 


TOWN  TOPICS 

than  his  close  and  business-like  partner  would 
have  thought  of  doing. 

Yet  he  felt  sure  that  Ann  did  not  know  of 
his  burning  affection  or  she  would  not  so  often 
have  gone  to  the  store  or  accepted  so  many 
favors  of  him. 

After  some  consideration  his  sense  of  humor 
got  the  best  of  him  and  he  decided  to  take  the 
papers  to  McNeil  himself.  This  he  did.  When 
asked  if  he  had  read  the  letter  he  admitted 
without  hesitation  that  he  had,  and  offered  a 
friendly  bit  of  jollification. 

Immediately  there  were  words  between  Hill 
and  McNeil.  Lincoln  tried  to  act  as  pacifier  and 
the  letter  was  put  in  the  stove.  Several  by 
standers  had  heard  the  difficulty,  however,  and 
were  not  slow  to  get  its  meaning.  Hill  was  in 
love  with  Ann  Rutledge.  He  charged  McNeil 
with  some  unfair  advantage  of  him.  The  news 
spread  like  a  delicious  ripple,  much  to  the  em 
barrassment  of  Ann  Eutledge  herself,  who 
was  informed  of  it  by  Nance  Cameron  before 
sundown. 

But  the  town  gossip  which  went  farthest  and 
quickest  and  was  to  last  longest,  started  about 
a  week  later  when  John  McNeil  disposed  of  his 

14  209 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

interest  in  his  store  and  his  farm,  and  suddenly 
left  New  Salem. 

It  was  reported  that  he  left  town  on,  his  best 
horse,  that  Mrs.  Rutledge  and  Ann  had  seen 
him  off,  and  that  he  had  said  he  was  going  back 
East  to  get  his  family. 

"What  did  he  sell  the  best  farm  in  Sangamon 

County  for  if  he  expected  to  .return?    "Was  he 

i 

still  engaged  to  Ann  Eutledge — or  was  their  en 
gagement  broken  off  ?  Had  Hill  had  anything  to 
do  with  it?  Or  did  McNeil  think  Abe  Lincoln 
liked  Ann?"  These  and  many  other  questions 
were  asked. 

Abe  Lincoln  asked  no  questions,  but  for  the 
time  Blackstone  and  Shakespeare,  his  grammar 
and  his  poem  were  alike  forgotten,  and  he  en 
joyed  the  half -fearful  sensation  of  one  walking  in 
the  dark  toward  a  sunrise. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
ATJAS  MCNEIL 

OF  ALL  the  people  in  New  Salem  who  were 
surprised  at  the  sudden  and  mysterious  leave- 
taking  of  the  lover  of  Ann  Butledge,  no  one  was 
so  mystified  and  troubled  as  Ann  herself.  Es 
pecially  was  she  perplexed  and  troubled  about 
a  promise  he  had  exacted  from  her  the  last  night 
they  were  together. 

"Ann,"  he  said,  "you've  promised  to  marry 
me — haven 't  you  1 ' ' 

Ann  looked  at  him  questioningly.  * '  Of  course 
— why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?" 

"Will  you  wait  for  me  if  I  should  go  away 
for  a  time?" 

'  *  Surely  you  believe  I  will. ' ' 

"Yes,  you'll  wait  unless  Abe  Lincoln  gets 
you  while  I'm  away." 

* '  Abe  Lincoln, ' '  she  repeated.  * '  What  makes 
you  say  that?" 

"Abe  Lincoln  has  not  been  keeping  company 
with  any  of  the  girls,  and  it's  not  their  fault. 
No  more  is  it  natural  for  a  young  fellow  as  full 

of  life  as  Abe  Lincoln  is  not  to  like  the  girls — 

211 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

except  when  they  like  one.  I'm  not  blind. 
There's  no  other  girl  in  New  Salem  like  you; 
maybe  no  other  one  good  enough  for  Abe  Lin 
coln.  He'll  want  something  extra  on  account  of 
his  book-learning.  Abe 's  a  good  fellow,  but  he 's 
lazy  as  a  dog,  always  lying  around  when  he  ought 
to  be  laying  by  some  dollars." 

"But  he  is  studying  and  reading  when  he  is 
lying  around.  When  anybody's  mind  is  at  work 
they're  not  lazy." 

' '  You  always  take  up  for  Abe  Lincoln  I  notice 
— ever  since  the  day  his  ark  got  stuck  on  the 
dam.  I  suppose  it's  because  he  was  born  under 
a  lucky  star." 

"What's  lucky  about  Abraham  Lincoln?" 

"Everything.  The  way  he  got  to  bring  the 
steamboat  down  the  river ;  the  way  he  got  to  be 
captain  in  the  Black  Hawk  war.  And  now  they 
says  he  is  certain  to  go  to  the  Legislature. ' ' 

"But  it's  not  luck.  It's  because  he  can  do 
things.  *I  will  prepare  myself,'  he  often  says, 
'  and  when  my  chance  comes  I  will  be  ready. '  ' ' 

"Yes,  that's  what  he  says,  and  that's  exactly 
the  reason  he'll  get  you  while  I'm  away." 

"But  I  have  promised  you,  John." 

1 '  Out  of  sight  out  of  mind, ' '  he  answered. 

212 


ALIAS  McNEIL 

'  'Do  you  think  I  would  forget  a  solemn  prom 
ise!"  There  was  surprise  and  something  of 
resentment  in  her  tone. 

"Not  exactly  that,  though  Abe  Lincoln  could 
talk  black  into  white  if  he  took  a  notion.  But 
a  fellow  don't  care  to  have  a  girl  stick  to  him 
just  on  account  of  a  sacred  promise. " 

"What  makes  you  talk  so  strangely?'*  she 
asked.  "And  tell  me,  where  are  you  going! 
You  haven't  told  me  this  yet." 

"I'm  going  back  where  I  came  from — back 
where  I  left  my  peoplei  when  I  came  out  here." 

' '  That  was  in  New  York  somewhere. " 

"Yes,  in  New  York  somewhere.  I  expect 
to  come  back  and  bring  them. ' ' 

"When  are  you  going?" 

"To-morrow." 

"To-morrow!  So  soon?"  she  exclaimed  in 
surprise  and  pain.  "Will  you  be  gone  long!" 

"Maybe — I  don't  know  how  long.  But  be 
fore  I  go  I've  a  secret  to  tell  you." 

"Something  you  have  never  told  me?" 

"Something  I  have  never  told  anybody. 
Something  you  must  not  tell. ' r 

"Not  even  my  mother?  I  tell  her  every 
thing." 

213 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Not  even  your  mother,  nor  father." 

"What  is  it,  John?'*  and  Ann's  face  was 
troubled  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"You  solemnly  promise  you  will  not  tell — at 
least  not  until  I  come  back? ' ' 

"I'd  like  to  know  what  it  is  before  I  promise. 
It  doesn't  seem  right  to  keep  things  from  Father 
and  Mother.  I  never  do." 

' '  Not  even  my  secrets  I  Don 't  you  trust  me, 
Ann?" 

"Of  course  I  do,  John." 

"Then  promise." 

Ann  was  sorely  puzzled.    Her  lips  twitched. 

"Promise,"  he  repeated,  "and  don't  cry. 
It's  nothing  to  cry  about." 

Still  Ann  hesitated.  "Father  would  think  it 
strange. ' ' 

"How  can  he  think  it  strange  if  he  knows 
nothing  about  it !  " 

"I promise,"  she  said  solemnly. 

"All  right,  then,  my  name  is  not  John  Mc 
Neil  at  all." 

Ann  stared  at  him  a  moment.  Then  with 
something  like  a  gasp  she  said,  "Your  name  is 
not  John  McNeil  ?  What  is  it  ?  Who  are  you  I ' ' 

1 1  Just  this.  I  came  here  from — nobody  knows 

214 


ALIAS  McNEIL, 

just  where,  not  even  you,  Ann.  I  named  myself 
John  McNeil  because  I  wanted  toi  lose  myself." 

"What  for?"  she  questioned  mechanically. 

"Back  where  I  came  from  my  folks  are  poor 
— these  no-account  poor  that  every  enterprising 
man  despises.  I  wanted  to  get  something  to 
gether  and  knew  I  should  never  be  able  to  do  it 
if  they  learned  where  I  was,  for  I  was  eternally 
being  called  on  to  help  them  and  keep  them  from 
starving  when  I  was  where  they  could  call  on 
me." 

"Have  you  heard  nothing  from  them  since 
you  came  here!" 

"Nothing." 

"Oh,  John!  how  could  you?  Perhaps  your 
mother  has  wanted  for  something." 

' i  She  would  have  wanted  just  the  same  if  I 
had  been  there. ' ' 

"She  might  even  be  dead." 

' ' I  don't  think  so  and  hope  not.  At  any  rate, 
I  have  made  some  money.  Now  I'm  going  back 
to  get  the  rest  of  them  and  I  want  you  to  wait 
for  me  until  I  come  back.  But  your  name  will 
never  be  Ann  McNeil. ' ' 

"What  will  it  be?"  she  asked  with  pale  lips. 

"Well,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  with  a  half- 

215 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

smile,  "if  it's  not  Mrs.  Abraham  Lincoln  before 
I  return,  it  will  be  Mrs.  James  McNamra. ' ' 

1 '  James,  McNamra, ' '  she  repeated  as  if  puz 
zled.  ' '  I  never  heard  the  name. ' ' 

' 'It  is  my  name.    You  will  get  used  to  it. ' ' 

Ann  was  silent.  She  was  making  an  effort 
to  choke  back  great  lumps  that  kept  rising  in  her 
throat.  Then  the  tears  came  and  ran  over  the 
rims  of  her  dark,  blue  eyes. 

"How  funny  women  are,"  McNeil  said. 
"There's  nothing  to  cry  about,  and  I  want  to 
see  you  laughing  the  last  time." 

"I  want  to  tell  Mother  and  Father,"  she 
sobbed. 

"You  said  you  wouldn't.  Are  you  going  to 
keep  your  promise  1 ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

' '  Then  kiss  me  good-night.  To-morrow  I  will 
ride  past  here  oni  my  way  to  Springfield.  But 
there  '11  be  no  kissing  then.  The  town  folks  will 
have  enough  to  talk  about  as  it  is." 

After  McNeil  had  left  town  Ann  began  watch 
ing  the  post-office,  and  the  postmaster  rendered 
her  careful  help  in  the  matter. 

But  days  went  by  and  no  letter  came.    The 

216 


ALIAS  McNEIL 

fair  face  of  Ann  Eutledge  took  on  a  worried 
look,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  kindly  assistance 
of  the  postmaster  the  gossips  might  have  known 
more  of  Ann's  correspondence — or  lack  of  it, 
than  they  had  yet  been  able  to  learn. 

The  strain  on  Ann,  the  worst  part  of  it  being 
the  secret,  which  to  her  was  fast  coming  to  seem 
little  short  of  a  crime  against  her  good  father 
and  mother,  began  to  tell  on  her.  She  laughed 
little  and  sang  less.  She  was  more  seldom  seen 
with  the  young  people. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eutledge  noticed  this,  as  well 
as  did  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  one  night,  when 
Ann 's  face  showed  that  she  had  been  particularly 
disappointed  because  of  no  letter,  Abe  Lincoln 
suggested  that  Ann  learn  grammar  with  him  out 
of  his  highly  prized  little  book.  Both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Eutledge  accepted  the  offer  as  a  special 
favor. 

So  it  happened  that  Ann  and  Abe  were  left 
together,  and  with  the  precious  grammar  spread 
on  Ann's  little  work-table  they  sat  down  to  their 
task,  he  on  one  side,  she  on  the  other.  The 
book  was  not  large,  and  bending  over  it  the  mop 
of  coarse,  black  hair  all  but  touched  the  crown  of 
fine-spun  gold. 

217 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"I  will  be  the  teacher,"  Abe  Lincoln  said 
after  they  had  looked  through  the  book,  which 
was  the  only  one  of  the  kind  in  New  Salem. 

' '  We  will  now  study  the  verb  '  to  love, '  ' '  and 
turning  the  pages  he  found  the  place. 

*  *  I  love, ' '  he  said,  looking  across  at  Ann. 

Her  eyes  were  on  the  book. 

1 '  Next  is  '  You  love  '  ? "  He  spoke  the  words 
as  a  question  with  the  accent  on  the  "you." 

"Say  it  now,  Ann,  just  as  I  have,  and  look 
at  your  teacher.  First,  'I  love.'  " 

"Hove,"  she  repeated. 

1 '  Might  be  better, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Now  the  next, 
and  look  at  your  teacher  and  repeat  after  me, 
'You  love'?" 

As  Ann  repeated  the  question  her  face  took 
on  a  touch  of  pink. 

"Very  good — very  good,  indeed.  Now  the 
next  is,  'We  love.'  "We  will  say  that  together 
with  the  accent  on  the  'we.'  Now — one — two — 
three — 'we,'  "  and  he  beat  three  times  slowly 
with  his  big  hand  "Eeady,  'We  love.'  " 

There  was  much  more  emphasis  in  the 
teacher's  statement  than  in  that  of  the  pupil. 
The  effect  on  Ann  was  to  cause  a  merry  laugh. 
"Ann,"  said  Abe  Lincoln,  "I'm  goin'  to  give 

218 


ALIAS  McNEIL 

you  this  grammar.  I  know  it  by  heart — by 
heart,  Ann — especially  the  verb '  I  love. '  I  want 
you  to  learn  it";  and  he  wrote  across  the  top, 
"Ann  Eutledge  is  learning  grammar,"  and 
pushed  it  across  the  table  to  her. 

"What  a  splendid  present!"  she  said  with 
a  smiling  face.  "How  I  wish  I  had  something 
to  give  you,  Abraham — would  you  take  my  little 
Bible— and  read  it  I" 

"Oh,  Ann! — would  you  give  it  to  me?"  he 
asked  with  the  joy  of  a  child. 

"You  won't  give  it  away  like  you  did  the 
muffler,  will  you!" 

"Wouldn't  you  be  willin'  if  I  should  run 
across  a  bigger  sinner  than  Abe  Lincoln!"  he 
answered  laughing. 

From  a  chest  of  drawers  she  took  a  little, 
brown  book  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"It  must  be  marked,  Ann,"  and,  taking 
the  pencil  he  had  written  on  the  grammar 
with,  he  handed  it  to  her,  saying,  "Now  we 
will  find  a  place  where  the  verb  'to  love'  is 
found. ' ' 

The  quick  ease  with  which  he  turned  to  the 
passage  he  had  in  mind  surprised  Ann.  With 
the  open  page  before  him  he  said,  "You  are 

219 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

religious,  Ann.  You  obey  the  commands  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  don't  you?" 

"I  try  to." 

"And  you'll  do  anything  in  reason  you  are 
told  to  by  the  Book?" 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Take  your  pencil  and  mark  this";  and, 
with  his  long  f  orefinger  pointing  to  the  text,  he 
read  impressively, ' '  '  This  is  my  commandment, 
that  you  love  one  another.*  " 

Whether  in  the  Scriptures  or  out  of  it,  Ann 
and  Abe  soon  found  something  to  laugh  at. 
"Ann  is  laughing,"  Mr.  Eutledge  said  to  his 
wife.  "How  good  it  sounds!  What  on  earth  has 
been  the  matter  with  her?' ' 

"She  hasn't  heard  from  John  McNeil,"  Mrs. 
Eutledge  answered. 

"McNeil  seems  to  be  a  good  fellow  and  un 
usually  successful,"  John  Rutledge  observed 
after  a  moment  of  reflection,  "but  Ann's  not 
married  to  him  yet." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IN  THE  CELLAR 

AFTER  months  of  waiting  Ann  Eutledge  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  John  McNeil.  It  was  a 
straightforward  explanation  of  the  delay,  men 
tioning  sickness  along  the  way,  and  other 
obstacles. 

Ann  Eutledge  was  delighted.  In  some  way 
it  seemed  to  lift  a  burden  and  answer  a  question. 

Nance  Cameron  had  the  pleasure  of  starting 
the  news  of  the  letter,  and  its  satisfactory  con 
tents,  which  allayed  gossip,  and  for  a  time  Ann 
was  quite  herself  again.  But  no  more  letters 
came,  and  Ann  was  soon  again  cast  down  by  the 
strangeness  of  her  lover's  silence.  Once  when 
she  had  hurried  to  the  post-office  after  the 
weekly  mail  had  arrived  only  to  be  told  by  the 
postmaster  there  was  no  letter,  she  made  an 
appeal  to  him  which  touched  his  heart. 

''He  ought  to  write  to  me,"  she  half  sobbed. 
"Everybody  is  wondering  about  it.  I  don't 
want  people  to  know  he  never  writes.  Don't 
tell  it." 

The  postmaster  promised, but  Ann's  troubled 

face  haunted  him,  and  he  found  himself  getting 

221 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

thoroughly  indignant  with  McNeil,  even  though 
glad  beyond  expression  that  he  was  treating 
her  just  as  he  was. 

As  the  days  and  weeks  went  by  Ann  found 
the  burden  of  the  secret  weighing  heavily  on  her 
conscience,  and  the  thought  kept  intruding  itself 
that  since  he  had  deceived  her  in  one  way  he 
might  have  done  so  in  other  ways.  It  was  hard 
to  think  this,  and  yet  it  was  almost  as  easy  to 
believe  as  that  his  name  was  not  McNeil  and 
that  he  had  been  gone  months  without  writing. 
She  felt  that  she  had  done  very  wrong  to  promise 
to  keep  a  secret,  and  such  a  grave  and  important 
secret,  from  her  parents.  Yet  she  had  promised, 
and,  torn  between  the  feeling  that  she  must  con 
fide  in  her  parents  and  that  she  must  keep  her 
promise,  she  grew  pale  and  quiet  and  unlike  the 
laughing,  singing  Ann  of  a  few  months  previous. 
Her  parents  noticed  this  with  concern,  and  it 
hurt  the  heart  of  Abe  Lincoln,  yet  none  of  them 
surmised  the  real  trouble. 

One  day  after  Ann  had  been  her  unreal  self 
for  several  months,  Lincoln  came  home  for  sup 
per  early  and  went  into  the  kitchen  to  help  Mrs. 
Eutledge. 

"I   want   a   pan   of   potatoes,"    she    said. 

222 


IN  THE  CELLAR 

"They're  in  the  short  bin  near  the  door.  I 
sent  Ann  for  them  half  an  hour  ago,  but  she 
must  have  gone  somewhere  else." 

"Mrs.  Rutledge,"  said  Abe  Lincoln  as  he 
tucked  the  pan  under  his  arm,  "what  ails  Ann? " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Her  father  and  I 
have  wondered.  It's  something  about  John  Mc 
Neil  I  think.  I  suppose  she's  heard  the  talk.  I 
can't  understand  John  McNeil.  He's  too  fine 
a  young  fellow  to  do  anything  mean  I'm  sure. 
I  hope  John  Rutledge  don't  turn  against  him. 
He's  slow  to  rile  up,  but  the  fur  flies  when  he 
does  get  mad.  Run  on  now  after  the  taters." 

Abe  Lincoln  made  his  way  down  the  cellar- 
steps  softly.  The  door  was  not  closed.  As  he 
entered  he  thought  he  saw  some  object  move  in 
one  of  the  dark  corners.  Opening  the  door  a  lit 
tle  more  he  looked  into  the  dark.  When  his  eyes 
had  become  accustomed  to  the  gloom  he  saw  the 
outlines  of  a  human  figure  huddled  together,  and 
putting  down  his  pan,  with  shoulders  and  head 
bent,  he  walked  over  the  hard,  earthen  floor  to 
the  dark  corner. 

Here  he  found  Ann  Butledge  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  a  turnip-box  with  her  head  leaning 
against  the  log  and  earthen  wall. 

223 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Ann — Ann  Rutledge,"  he  said  softly.  A 
sob:was  his  only  answer. 

"Ann — Ann,"  he  said,  bending  over  her. 

' '  Go  away,  please, ' '  she  said. 

"No,  I  will  not  go  away.  You  are  in  trouble. 
I  want  to  help  you. ' ' 

"You  cannot — nobody  can  help  me,"  and 
again  her  voice  was  choked  with  sobs. 

"Of  course  somebody  can  help  you.  Tell 
me  about  it.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you. ' ' 

"But  I  cannot  tell — my  trouble — is — is — a 
secret.'" 

"A  secret,"  Lincoln  said — "a  secret — who 
from?" 

"From  everybody  in  the  world  but  John 
McNeil.  I  promised  him  I  would  not  tell — not 
even  my  mother. '  > 

' i  He  got  you  to  swear  to  a  secret  you  could 
not  confide  in  your  mother?"  and  Lincoln 
seemed  aghast. 

"Yes — and  I  never  had  a  secret  from  Father 
and  Mother  before. ' ' 

"Ann — Ann  Rutledge!"  and  Lincoln's  voice 
was  no  longer  gentle;  "a  secret  from  a  girl's 
mother  is  never  the  right  kind  of  a  secret.  A 
mother  is  the  one  person  on  earth  no  honorable 

224 


IN  THE  CELLAR 

man  would  want  secrets  kept  from.  It  is  wrong 
Ann — wrong. ' ' 

"I  believe  it  is.  It  is  wearing  me  out — it  is 
breaking  my  heart — I  feel  that  I  cannot  keep  it — 
and  yet  I  promised. ' ' 

"Ann  Rutledge!"  Lincoln  was  bending  over 
her  and  there  was  a  tone  in  his  voice  that  com 
pelled  her  to  look  up.  In  the  gloom  his  face 
had  taken  on  a  strange,  white  cast  and  something 
of  the  expression  it  had  borne  when  Jack  Arm 
strong  had  tried  the  unfair*  trick. 

"Ann  Rutledge,"  he  whispered  under  his 
breath,  "has  John  McNeil  in  any  way  wronged 
you?  If  he  has — if  he  has — I — will  choke  the 
life  out  of  him,  and  that  without  warninV 

"Oh,  Abraham!"  she  cried,  "don't  talk  so. 
I  don't  know  whether  he  has  wronged  me  or  not. 
That's  what  the  secret's  about — I  don't  know 
and  I  wish  I  could  die  right  here  in  this  cellar, ' ' 
and  again  she  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
sobbed. 

Speechless,  Abraham  Lincoln  looked  down 
upon  her.  His  face  was  pale,  his  teeth  set — his 
great  fists  were  clenched,  yet  what  could  he  do  1 

The  sobs  of  the  girl  beat  against  his  heart, 
strongly  fanning  the  pain  and  fierce;  passion. 

15  225 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RTJTLEDGE 

1  '  What  shall  I  do— what  shall  I  do  ? "  she  said 
brokenly. 

"You  shall  go  straight  to  your  mother,"  he 
said  firmly.  ' '  Tell  her  everything. ' ' 

"But  I  promised — gave  an  honorable  prom 
ise,  a  solemn  promise  that  I  would  not  tell. ' ' 

"There  can  be  no  such  thing  as  an  honorable 
promise  to  the  kind  of  a  man  who  does  not  know 
the  meanin*  of  the  word.  There  can  be  no  such 
thing  as  a  sacred  promise  to  a  man  who  has  no 
more  conception  of  sacredness  than  a  beast.  The 
man  who  has  brought  you  to  this  trouble,  of 
whatever  kind  it  may  be,  is  unfit  for  considera 
tion.  Go  to  you  mother.  If  you  don't  go  I'll 
carry  you  there  in  my  arms." 

A  moment  she  hesitated.  Then  she  arose. 
He  twined  his  fingers  around  her  arm  and  with 
out  speaking  they  crossed  the  cellar.  At  the 
door  she  paused.  l '  Come  on,  Ann,"  he  said,  and 
they  went  up  the  steps  together. 

Entering  the  kitchen,  Abe  Lincoln  said,  "I 
found  your  little  girl  in  the  cellar — in  trouble. 
She  has  come  to  tell  her  mother  about  it.  I'll 
go  fetch  the  potatoes. ' ' 


AFTER  Ann  Eutledge  confided  her  heart- 
troubling  secret  to  her  mother,  Mrs.  Eutledge 
lost  no  time  in  laying  the  matter  before  her  hus 
band.  She  feared  it  would  be  hard  to  make  Tiirn 
see  that  John  McNeil's  conduct  toward  Ann  had 
been  honorable,  and  John  Eutledge  believed  in 
the  kind  of  honor  that  makes  a  man's  word  as 
good  as  his  bond,  and  would  take  advantage  of 
no  situation  to  perpetrate  an  injustice. 

He  listened  in  silence  as  Mrs.  Eutledge  told 
him  Ann's  secret,  the  secret  that  was  changing 
the  glad-hearted  girl  into  a  quiet,  nervous  wo 
man.  Several  times  he  seemed  about  to  speak. 
He  listened,  however,  until  the  end,  but  Mrs. 
Eutledge  knew  he  was  angry. 

"Now,  John,"  she  counseled,  "don't  be  too 
hard  on  John  McNeil.  "What  he  said  may  all  be 
true.  He  may  go  back  and  get  his  people  and 
bring  them  right  here  as  he  said." 

"Maybe  he  will — but  does  that  change  the 
fact  that  he  played  double  ?  Does  that  change 
the  fact  that  during  his  years  of  plenty  he  has 
never  helped  those  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood 

227 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

who  may  have  suffered?  John  McNeil  is  as  cold 
a  trade-driver  as  ever  hit  the  trail  to  the  West, 
and  if  he  comes  back  here " 

"Now,  John,  be  careful.  Aside  from  the 
awful  effect  the  whole  thing  has  had  on  poor 
Ann,  there  may  be  no  real  sin  committed. " 

"Aside  from  the  effect  on  our  Ann?  My 
God!  how  much  more  sin  could  a  man  commit 
unless  he  had  ruined  her  reputation — and  if  he 

had  done  that "  and  John  Eutledge  arose 

and  paced  the  floor. 

"But  he  didn't.  How  can  you  let  such  a 
thought  come  into  your  head  about  Ann  f  Don 't 
get  yourself  all  worked  up  over  a  straw  man." 

"Straw  man?"  he  exclaimed  angrily.  "Is 
it  a  straw  man  that  our  Ann  laughs  no  more? 
Is  it  a  straw  man  that  we  never  hear  her  singing 
home  across  the  bluffs?  Is  it  a  straw  man  that 
her  sweet  face  has  been  taking  on  lines  of  worry, 
ill  fitting  the  face  of  Ann  Eutledge?  Is  it  a 
straw  man  that  she  was  forced  into  a  promise  to 
keep  a  secret — a  dishonorable  secret — from  her 
own  father  and  mother?  There's  no  straw  man 
about  any  such  thing  as  this." 

John  Eutledge  sat  down  and  lit  his  pipe. 
After  it  was  smoking  well,  Mrs.  Eutledge  said, 
"What  shall  I  say  to  Ann?" 

228 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

"Tell  Ann  to  come  to  me,"  he  said  shortly. 

Mrs.  Eutledge  went  out,  and  a  moment  later 
Ann  came.  When  she  entered  the  room  her 
father  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire 
place,  his  hands  behind  him. 

1  'Yes,  father,"  she  said  quietly. 

John  Eutledge  surveyed  her  a  moment.  "What 
he  was  thinking  of  she  had  not  time  to  consider, 
but  the  expression  on  his  face  seemed  to  be  a 
combination  of  wrath  and  pity,  of  love  and 
outraged  justice. 

"A  man  called  John  McNeil  asked  my  con 
sent  to  marry  you,  Ann." 

"Yes,  Father";  her  voice  was  a  trifle 
unsteady. 

"I  supposed  him  to  be  the  honorable  and 
straight-faced  young  gentleman  he  seemed  to 
be." 

She  made  no  reply.  John  Eutledge  blew  out 
a  couple  of  puffs  of  smoke. 

"From  your  mother  I  have  just  learned  that 
there  is  no  such  person  as  John  McNeil. ' ' 

"No,  Father." 

' '  This  McNamra,  or  whoever  he  may  be,  may 
turn  up  in  these  parts  again  some  time." 

"I  don't  know" ;  and  the  tremor  had  not  left 
her  voice. 

229 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

1  'He  might  have  the  unmitigated  hardihood 
to  expect  to  marry  the  daughter  of  John  Rut- 
ledge,  the  girl  he  courted  under  the  name  of 
McNeil.  If  he  should — if  he  should  come  back 
and  should  even  look  like  he  thought  of  such  a 
thing — I  would — would " 

"Father,"  Ann  said  softly,  stepping  nearer 
him,  for  she  saw  that  he  was  angry,  "you 
wouldn't  do  anything  wrong." 

"Wrong?"  he  said.  "Wrong — no — nothing 
wrong — what  I'd  do  would  be  right";  and  he 
turned  and  knocked  his  pipe  against  the  chim 
ney  with  such  force  as  to  threaten  its  existence. 

' '  Perhaps  he  was  telling  the  truth.  Perhaps 
he  will  return  some  day  just  as  he  said  he 
would. ' ' 

"Perhaps — perhaps.  But  is  he  telling  the 
truth  about  his  name?  No,  he  is  lying.  One 
way  or  another  he  has  lied  to  a  woman,  and  a 
man  who  will  desert  his  own  father  and  mother 
would  desert  his  wife.  I  'm  not  condemning  him 
too  hard,  but  he  will  never  marry  John  Rut- 
ledge's  daughter.  Do  you  understand,  Ann." 

"Yes,  Father";  her  voice  was  unsteady. 

"He  has  put  you  in  a  most  embarrassing 
position — more  than  you  know.  You  will  be 
talked  about  when  his  double  life  is  known,  and, 

230 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 

since  it  is  bound  to  come  out,  the  sooner  the 
better,  and  I  shall  see  to  that.  Gossips  will  dis 
cuss  matters  that's  none  of  their  business,  but 
they  will  not  go  too  far,  my  girl,  for  John  E-ut- 
ledge  is  your  father." 

''Perhaps  I  will  hear  from  him — even  yet," 
she  said  with  an  effort. 

1  'If  you  do,  hand  the  letter  to  me.  I'll  give 
the  young  man  some  advice  about  swearing 
dutiful  daughters  to  keep  secrets  from  their 
parents." 

The  tears  which  Ann  had  struggled  to  keep 
back  now  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  she  feared  to 
speak  lest  the  slightest  movement  of  her  face 
would  start  them  running  down  her  cheeks. 

John  Butledge  looked  at  her.  The  expres 
sion  on  his  stern  face  changed  instantly,  and 
the  voice  was  wonderfully  softened  as  he  said, 
".Arm,  my  little  girl,  don't  cry.  Don't  waste 
good  tears.  It 's  not  too,  late  to  mend  the  harm. 
To-night  when  you  say  your  prayers  add  a 
couple  of  lines  telling  your  Creator  that  the 
best  thing  He  has  done  for  you  up  to  this  good 
time  is  to  save  you  from  being  the  wife  of  a  man 
whose  word  would  have  no  other  meaning  to 
you  than  so  much  noise.  Eun  on  now,  my  girl, 
and  tell  your  mother  I'd  like  to  see  her." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

GLOOM  AND   THE  LIGHT 

ANN'S  secret  was  not  long  in  gaining  pub 
licity  after  her  father  found  it  out,  nor  was  he 
disposed  entirely  to  discredit  the  gossips'  re 
ports  that  McNeil's  strange  actions  might  be 
due  to  a  living  wife  or  some  crime  committed. 
Why  else  on  earth  would  a  man  change  his  name, 
desert  a  girl  like  Ann  E-utledge,  and  go  away — 
nobody  knew  where  1 

The  town  gossip  greatly  embarrassed  Ann 
Eutledge,  yet  she  was  glad  she  had  told  her 
parents,  and,  the  burden  of  the  secret  now  being 
removed,  she  was  more  like  herself. 

The  action  of  John  McNeil  and  the  conse 
quent  displeasure  of  Ann's  father  were  much  to 
the  liking  of  Lincoln,  and  while  he  felt  sorry  for 
Ann,  his  sorrow  was  not  sufficient  to  hold  back 
his  joy,  which  was  given  expression  in  the  jol- 
liest  stories  he  had  ever  told.  Laughter  seemed 
infectious  around  the  post-office  when  the  post 
master  was  there.  His  days  in  New  Salem  had 
all  been  busy,  happy  days  with  his  good  friends, 
and  opportunities  for  study.  But  better  than 

232 


GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 

all  was  the  growing  consciousness  that  an  unde 
fined  hope  which  had  been  struggling  against  a 
clearly  defined  duty,  was  approaching  the  right 
of  way.  His  heart  was  glad  as  he  went  about 
over  the  country  with  his  stakes  and  chains. 

It  was  just  about  this  time  that  the  wheel  of 
fortune  turned.  The  men  who  had  bought  the 
Lincoln  and  Berry  store  and  had  given  Lincoln 
paper  to  pay  his  debts  with,  closed  their  doors 
one  day  without  notice,  and,  without  saying  fare 
well  to  a  soul  in  New  Salem,  disappeared. 

When  Lincoln  heard  this  he  felt  slip  upon 
him  the  burden  of  a  debt  that  staggered  him. 
Not  in  a  lifetime  did  it  seem  he  would  be  able  to- 
pay  it.  And  so  it  was  that  just  as  it  seemed  that 
he  was  about  to  enter  the  path  of  a  golden  glow 
he  was  thrown,  instead,  into  the  black  gloom 
of  a  great  despondency. 

When  the  word  was  passed  around  town  of 
Abe  Lincoln's  bad  luck  there  was  much  talk. 
What  would  he  do?  There  seemed  to  be  just 
two  alternatives,  to  skin  out  and  leave  it  all,  as 
the  men  had  done  who  bought  the  store,  and  his 
partner  Berry  before  them,  had  done,  or  to  set 
tle  down  to  a  lifetime  of  struggle  and  pay  the 
debt.  Everybody  believed  Abe  Lincoln  thor- 

233 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

oughly  honest,  but  here  was  a  test  that  seemed 
beyond  the  powers  of  human  endurance. 

The  night  the  store  was  closed,  Abe  Lincoln 
did  not  come  home  to  supper. 

" Where  is  Abe  Lincoln?"  the  Butledges 
asked. 

Nobody  knew.  Ann  slipped  away  to  the  post- 
office.  It  was  closed.  She  rattled  the  door  and 
called  his  name  at  the  latch-hole  but  received 
no  answer. 

Day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  but  she  made  an 
excuse  to  go  to  the  mill,  and  with  a  little  basket 
on  her  arm  she  hurried  down  the  sloping  road. 
Twilight  shades  were  falling  over  the  weather- 
stained  log  building  which  seemed  to  be  drawing 
itself  into  the  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the  oppo 
site  bank  of  the  river.  The  big,  stone  wheel 
was  silent,  but  the  waters  falling  over  the  dam 
gavei  out  the  sound  of  something  alive. 

Quietly  she  approached  the  wide  mill  doors 
which  stood  open.  On  the  threshold  she  looked 
carefully  in.  For  a  moment  the  deeper  gloom 
of  the  inside  blinded  her.  Then  the  big,  white 
millstone  took  shape,  and  the  door,  opening  onto 
the  river  platform.  Through  this  a  pale  light 
filtered. 

234 


GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 

Taking  a  step  farther  in,  she  looked  again 
toward  some  dark  outlines  which  she  was  sure 
were  not  those  of  pillar  or  prop,  outlines  which 
took  the  form  of  a  tall,  shadowy  giant  standing 
against  the  doorway  and  looking  out  upon  the 
river  in  the  falling  darkness. 

She  crossed  the  mill  rapidly  and  softly,  and, 
approaching  the  tall  shadowy  figure,  touched  the 
giant  of  the  gloom  on  the  arm  and  said,  ''Abra 
ham  Lincoln. ' ' 

He  turned  about  quickly.  "Ann — Ann  Eut- 
ledge — what  are  you  doing  here  ? ' ' 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you." 

"Why?" 

"You  did  not  come  to  supper." 

"I  often  go  without  supper." 

"I  heard  of  your  trouble.  I  wanted  to  find 
you  and  to  help  you.  You  found  me  in  the  cellar 
— and  helped  me. ' ' 

"And  what  can  you  do — what  can  anyone 
do  for  me  ? "  and  he  turned  again  to  the  river. 
' '  Look  at  the  darkness.  Only  that  for  me. ' ' 

"But  light  always  follows  darkness,  Abra 
ham.  God  has  planned  it  so.  Sometimes  the 
night  is  very  dark,  and  very  long,  but  morning 
comes.  It  is  always  so." 

235 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He  was  silent  and  they  stood  together  in  the 
gloom. 

' '  God ! "  he  said  to  himself.  ' '  Is  there  a  God  f 
I  wonder.  If  there  is  a  God  He  knows  how  hard 
I've  tried — worked  against  fate  itself,  how  I 
wanted  to  be  something  in  the  world.  I  Ve  loved 
to  study  about  Washington  and  have  been  fool 
enough  to  dream  I  might  do  something  for  my 
country  some  time.  But  "Washington  came  from 
a  race  of  cavaliers.  I  come  from  the  poorest  of 
ten  thousand.  Washington  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
one  was  an  Adjutant  General  of  Virginia  with 
the  rank  of  Major.  Abraham  Lincoln  at  twenty- 
one  was  driving  two  yoke  of  oxen  to  an  emigrant 
wagon  through  the  mud-holes  and  wilds  of  the 
West  and  had  never  been  to  school  a  year  in 
his  life.  I  was  tryin*.  I  felt  that  I  was  gettin* 
ahead.  Now  comes  a  burden  that  will  crush 
me  to  earth — for  Ann  Rutledge — Ann  Rut- 
ledge,"  and  he  turned  toward  her  and  spoke 
with  fierce  determination,  ' '  every  penny  of  this 
debt  must  be  paid  if  it  takes  me  to  the  day  of 
my  death  with  my  coffin  money  thrown,  in. ' ' 

"Yes,  Abraham  Lincoln,"  she  answered 
gently,  "every  penny — and  God  will  help  you  do 
it,  for  God  never  expects  the  impossible.  He's 
not  that  kind  of  a  God,  you  know." 

236 


GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 

"You  talk  about  God,"  said  Lincoln  rather 
indifferently,  "as  if  you  were  sure — well,  I  be 
lieve  you  are.  I  knew  it  the  night  I  heard  you 
singin'  on  the  bluff.  I  have  heard  you  sing 
that  song  many  times  since — sometimes  in  my 
dreams.  I  wish  I  could  feel  as  you  do  when  you 
sing  your  pilgrim  song.  I  have  imagined  that 
I  will  some  day,  but  now — now  I  think  of  my 
mother  lyin'  under  a  forgotten  tangle  where 
strange  beasts  creep.  She  was  a  pilgrim,  too — 
but  she  passed  out  of  it  all  weak  and  weary.  Yet 
she  believed  just  as  you  believe,  as  I  have  tried 
to  believe.'* 

"But,  Abraham — you  know  we  are  here  for 
just  a  little  time.  The  song  says, '  I  can  tarry — I 
can  tarry  but  a  night/  Sometimes  the  night  is 
very  short,  as  when  a  child  passes  on.  Some 
times  it  is  longer,  as  when  an  old,  old  man  dies. 
But  whether  long  or  short,  the  night  gives  way 
to  the  morning  with  its  light  and  fresh  life  and 
strength.  I  know  it  is  so." 

She  had  been  speaking  in  a  quiet  voice  with 
a  touch  of  pleading,  for  she  felt  he  was  not  pay 
ing  close  attention. 

"How  do  you  know  it?"  he  asked,  turning 
to  her.  ' '  Tell  me  how  you  know  it — or  why  you 
believe  so  strongly." 

237 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  she  said,  "here  where 
the  light  is  fading  on  the  river.  See,  only  the 
foam  shines  now.  But  in  just  a  little  while  the 
moon  will  put  a  thousand  bars  of  silver  on  the 
water.  We  are  not  afraid  of  the  dark — you  and 
I — nor  of  each  other.  I  want  to  tell  you  a  story. '  > 

He  was  paying  attention  now.  They  sat  down 
on  the  broad  step  of  the  mill  door.  To  him  Ann 
Eutledge  had  never  been  so  close  before,  and 
yet  just  now  so  unattainable.  Never  before  had 
she  spoken  to  him  in  such  childish  simplicity,  yet 
now  she  was  mysteriously  beyond  his  under 
standing. 

"I  have  often  doubted,"  he  said,  with  some 
thing  like  a  sigh  as  he  stretched  his  legs  across 
the  platform  and  waited;  "I  should  like  to  be 
lieve — as  you  do.  Can  you  make  me?" 

"I  will  tell  you  a  story,"  she  said  again. 
Her  voice  was  low  and  sweet.  It  seemed  in  tune 
with  the  gathering  darkness,  the  falling  of  the 
water,  the  evening  calm  and  the  burdened  heart 
of  the  man. 

"When  I  was  yet  very  small  I  began  wonder 
ing  and  asking  questions  about  things  I  could 
neither  understand  nor  believe.  It  was  while  we 
were  back  in  Kentucky  I  was  sent  to  the  pasture 

238 


GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 

to  watch  the  cows.  There  was  a  pond  in  the  low 
end  of  the  pasture  where  the  reeds  grew  and 
where  all  was  very  quiet  around.  I  was  sitting 
beside  the  water,  wondering  perhaps  if  some 
thing  strange  and  beautiful  would  appear  from 
its  depths  as  in  fairy  stories,  when  I  saw  a 
hideous,  mud-colored  grub  creeping  slowly  above 
the  water-line  and  climbing  the  reed.  I  was 
tempted  to  knock  it  back  out  of  sight,  it  was  so 
ugly.  But  I  only  watched.  Very  soon  its  muddy 
shell  cracked  open,  something  with  wings  crept 
out  and  the  shell  fell  back  to  the  place  from 
which  it  had  come.  The  new  creature  spread 
its  wings  slowly.  They  dried,  turning  as  they 
did  so  into  silver  gauze,  which  he  spread  out  like 
bits  of  shining  lace.  Then  he  went  skimming 
away  across  the  pond  and  over  the  dandelions 
and  grass  flowers,  even  over  the  heads  of  the 
grazing  cows.  In  all  my  life  I  had  never  dreamed 
of  anything  so  wonderful  nor  had  any  fairy  story 
ever  been  told  me  that  was  so  marvelous  as 
what  I  had  just  seen.  I  looked  back  to  the  pond. 
A  ray  of  sun  was  shining  so  that  I  could  see  the 
bottom.  The  cast-off  shell  was  lying  there  in  the 
mud.  There  were  others  around  it  like  it,  except 
they  had  life  in  them.  They  crept  up  and  maybe 

239 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

looked  at  the  empty  shell.  One  touched  it  and 
turned  away. 

"After  a  time  the  new  creature  with  the  sil 
very  wings  came  again  and  rested  on  the  reed. 
His,  reflection  showed  in  the  water.  Perhaps  he 
could  see  those  who  were  as  he  had  been,  creep 
ing  in  the  mud.  But  he  had  no  way  of  telling 
them  that  they  would  one  day  become  creatures 
of  the  upper  world  of  sunshine  and  flowers  and 
sky,  for  the  only  world  they  knew  was  mud. 
And  then  I  thought  of  people — and  that  we  are 
yet  dwelling  in  the  world  of  mud.  The  Bible 
calls  it  the  'earth.*  It  says  'there  is  a  natural 
body' — do  you  remember — ' There  is  a  natural 
body  and  there  is  a  spiritual  body.  The  first 
is  of  the  earth — earthy. '  And  it  is  not  until  we 
have  left  the  old  body  that  we  can  know  the  life 
on  wings — the  life  up  in,  God's  big  fields  of  sun 
shine  that  we  call  heaven. 

"As  I  watched  the  shining  creature  sitting 
on  the  reed,  I  thought  perhaps  it  was  a  mother 
wishing  she  could  tell  her  child  down  below  to  be 
brave  and  not  mind  the  mud,  for  at  longest  it 
can  last  but  a  little  while.  Of  course  there  was 
no  way  the  one  could  speak  and  the  other  hear. 
But  it  was  a  helpful  thought.  Do  you  ever  think 

240 


GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 

of  your  mother  this  way?  Do  you  ever  feel 
when  you  are  in  the  gloom  that  she  is  not  very 
far  away,  and  only  waiting  until  you  have  been 
changed,  to  tel\  you  many  things?  The  Bible 
calls  it  'when  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on 
Immortality.'  " 

"Immortality,"  the  man  repeated,  as  if  to 
himself.  It  was  the  title  of  the  new  poem^  he  so 
liked.  Then  he  said,  almost  reverently, ' '  Go  on, 
Ann." 

"/  believe/'  she  said  simply,  "that's  why  I 
am  so  happy  when  I'm  singing  'I'm  a  pilgrim.' 
It  is  my  soul  you  hear  singing,  Abraham — that 
part  of  me  that  will  not  die,  thai}  is  shouting  on 
the  way.  Wasn't  God  good  to  plan  it  all  so 
lovely?" 

Abraham  Lincoln  turned  slowly  and  looked 
down,  on  Ann  Rutledge. 

The  moon  was  throwing  its  first  gleams 
across  the  river.  In  the  pale  light  the  face  and 
hair  with  its  pale  red-gold  halo  seemed  to  stand 
out  from  the  shadowy  background  like  some 
thing  ethereal  and  unreal.  The  man  gazed  at  it. 
It  was  so  shining — so  happy. 

"You  wrere  sobbin'  in  the  cellar  not  so  long 
ago, ' '  he  said. 

16  241 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"That  was  the  darkness — but  always  the 
light  comes  back. ' ' 

' '  Because  you  believe. ' ' 

"Don't  you  believe?  Oh  you  must  believe, 
Abraham. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  want  to  help  me  to  believe  ?  Do  you 
want  to  help  me  to  reach  the  heights — higher 
heights  than  man  has  ever  climbed?  For  I  feel 
that  you  can  help  me  do  even  this.  You  can 
transform  me,  and  I  do  not  expect  to  die  either — 
not  yet." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Once  I  saw  an  eagle  rise  from  a  bluff  on 
the  river.  Easily  it  lifted  itself  above  every 
thing  and  soared  against  the  sky.  So  was  I 
lifted  up  when  I  heard  you  singin'  on  the  heights. 
All  night  long  I  sat  thinkin '  about  it.  I  could  not 
fathom  the  mystery  then.  With  the  sunrise  the 
matin '  call  of  the  bird  began  to  unfold  the  mys 
tery  to  me.  Ann — Ann  Butledge,  I  want  you  to 
let  me  love  you." 

"Does  love  have  to  be  let?"  She  asked  the 
question,  looking  out  across  the  water  and 
woods. 

"No — never.  But  dams  can  be  built,  and 
then  the  waters  on  their  way  must  do  one  of  two 

242 


GLOOM  AND  THE  LIGHT 

things — break  the  dam  or  change  their  course. 
I  do  not  want  to  change  my  course.  I  do  not 
want  to  break  a  dam — if  it  can  be  helped — for 
I'll  make  a  rip-snortin'  big  smash-up  of  it  if  I 
do.  May  I  love  you  ? ' ' 

He  was  looking  into  her  face,  which  was  still 
shining. 

' '  Let  me  get  a  letter  to  John  McNeil  asking 
him  to  release  me." 

" And  then,  Ann?" 

"Then — Oh,  Abraham  Lincoln! — then — but 
we  mustn't  even  talk  of  it  yet";  and  she  arose 
from  the  step. 

The  tall  man  stood  beside  her.  The  rising 
moon  cast  a  light  on  his  face.  The  girl  looked 
at  it  in  wonderment. 

"Abraham,"  she  said,  "you  do  not  look  like 
the  same  man  I  found  here." 

"Keep  still,  Ann,"  he  whispered.  "We  are 
just  outside  heaven. ' ' 

"And  you  believe  now — believe!"  and  she 
waited  for  his  answer. 

' '  Believe,  yes  I  believe.  I  must  believe  in  the 
Great  Creator.  Nothin'  less  could  have  fash 
ioned  the  soul  of  Ann  Eutledge.  From  now  on, 
eternally,  I  shall  believe  to  my  souPs  salvation." 

243 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

' '  Out  of  the  gloom  into  the  light, ' '  she  said 
softly. 

A  few  moments  they  stood  as  if  not  wishing 
to  break  some  magic  spell.  Then  he  said,  "You 
must  run  right  home.  "We  will  not  go  out  to 
gether;  but  from  the  door  I  will  watch  until  you 
are  well  away,  then  I  will  follow. ' ' 

Another  moment  they  tarried  in  the  wide  mill 
doon  as  if  loath  to  leave,  then  she  went  out. 

As  she  did  so  a  small  dark  figure  stepped 
around  the  corner  of  the  mill.  The  next  moment 
the  voices  of  Davy  and  Sis  Eutledge  were  heard 
calling, ' '  Ann — Ann  Eutledge ! ' ' 

"So  that's  the  Mollie  that  ain't  at  the  mill 
for  no  corn  grindin',"  the  small  man  around  the 
mill  said  to  himself  when  Ann  had  answered  the 
call.  ' '  Now  who 's  the  other  bat  ? ' ' 

A  moment  later  the  tall  figure  of  Abe  Lincoln 
emerged  from  the  building  and  turned  toward 
the  hill. 

"Eh-eh-eh!"  grunted  the  man  behind  the 
corner.  "He's  a  bar — he's  a  bar,"  and  he 
slapped  his  foxed  breeches  and  walked  half-way 
up  the  hill  with  his  coon-skin  cap  squeezed 
tightly  under  his  arm  as  an  expression  of  his  joy. 


CHAPTER  XXVH 

COVERING  THE  COAIjS 

WHEN  John  Eutledge  was  consulted  about 
the  sending  of  Ann's  proposed  letter  asking  for 
a  release  from  her  engagement  to  John  Mc 
Neil,  he  said,  "What  for?  Hasn't  he  released 
you  enough  yet !  He  '11  never  answer  it. ' ' 

" Don't  be  too  hard  on  him,  John,"  Mrs. 
Eutledge  said.  "He  always  seemed  to  know 
about  manners." 

'  *  Men  have  been  killed  for  having  no  worse 
manners,"  Eutledge  said  dryly. 

"But  we  wouldn't  want  to  be  anything  but 
fair,"  Ann  pleaded. 

John  Eutledge  looked  at  her  a  moment.  Then 
he  reached  out  his  hand  and  placed  it  on  her 
red-gold  hair. 

"Poor  little,  tender-hearted  goose,"  he  said, 
moving  his  hand  up  and  down  in  awkward  patsr 
"Go  ahead  if!  it  will  make  you  feel  any  better." 

So  the  letter  was  written,  and  approved  by 
John  Eutledge.  Ann  wrapped  it  in  stout  brown 
paper,  tied  it  carefully  with  string,  her  father 
gave  her  the  money  to  pay  its  way,  and  the  post 
master  mailed  it  for  her. 

245 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

After  the  letter  had  been  gone  several  weeks 
Ann  began  watching  for  a  reply.  Abe  Lincoln 
also  watched,  and  though  no  comment  was  made 
the  matter  was  of  tremendous  importance  to 
both  of  them. 

The  spring  of  1834  rapidly  passed  into  sum 
mer.  In  the  home  and  garden  Ann  and  her 
mother  were  busy  every  day,  while  with  Abe 
Lincoln  time  had  never  seemed  to  go  so  fast. 
His  surveying  was  taking  him  farther  and  far 
ther  into  the  county.  In  every  locality  he  made 
new  friends.  His  work  was  bringing  him  some 
money  also  and  he  had  begun  to  make  payments 
on  the  giant  debt  which  hung  over  him.  The 
entire  town  considered  him  little  less  than  a 
hero,  one  of  those  uncommon  heroes  whose  valor 
lies  in  simple  honesty. 

Several  of  the  unhappy  experiences,  of  debt 
came  to  him,  however,  for  his  payments  were  of 
necessity  slow,  and  once  he  was  sued  at  the  law 
and  was  compelled  to  turn  over  his  horse 
and  watch — two  necessaries  he  had  secured. 
Friends,  however,  helped  him  get  them  back. 

As  the  citizens  of  New  Salem  had  before  de 
termined,  Lincoln  was  nominated  for  the  Legis- 

246 


COVERING  THE  COALS 

lature,  and  during  the  summer,  as  lie  went  about 
his  surveying,  he  used  every  opportunity  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  people.  "I  must  under 
stand  the  people/'  he  would  say  to  John  Rut- 
ledge.  c '  I  must  come  in  contact  with  the  people. 
It  is  the  will  of  the  great  mass  of  common  people, 
not  the  preference  of  the  favored  few,  that  makes 
Democracy." 

To  the  end  of  accomplishing  this  he  took  time 
to  get  acquainted  everywhere,  sometimes  telling 
stories,  sometimes  going  into  fieldd  and  lending 
a  hand  at  gathering  in  the  harvest.  But  always 
his  honesty,  sincerity  and  hearty  sympathy  with 
the  toiler,  and  his  big,  glad  hand  of  fellowship 
won  him  friends,  and  often  after  he  had  told 
John  Rutledge  of  his  travels  the  older  man 
would  say  to  his  wife,  "Abe's  going  to  make 
something  of  himself.  I  don't  know  what.  But 
he's  got  the  stuff  in  him." 

There  was  much  interest  in  the  election.  His 
opponent  did  not  now  charge  him  with  being  an 
infidel.  The  pioneer  citizens  of  Sangamon 
County  were  rigidly  against  the  union  of  church 
and  state  and  Abe  Lincoln  had  them  well  in 
formed  concerning  the  perils  of  a  republic  if 
this  foundation-stone  of  democratic  govern- 

247 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ment  should  be  stolen  or  cheated  from  them. 
Nor  would  it  Have  been  easy  in  and  about  New 
Salem  to  make  the  impression  that  Abei  Lincoln 
was  devoid  of  religion. 

"When  the  voting  was  over  and  Abe  Lincoln 
was  safely  elected  there  was  a  celebration  in 
New  Salem  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  size  of 
the  village,  and  one  of  the  proudest  and  happiest 
of  all  the  shouting,  cheering  crowd  was  Ann 
Rutledge,  whose  face  had  taken  on  again  its 
old-time  gladness. 

During  the  campaigning  time  Abe  Lincoln 
had  seen  little  of  Ann,  and  the  letter  which  she 
had  long  looked  for  had  not  come. 

It  was  after  the  election  excitement  had  sub 
sided  that  Abe  Lincoln  found  an  evening  for 
Ann.  Early  after  supper  the  family  sat  about 
the  fire,  and  Davy  and  Sis  and  Sonny  were  loath 
to  go  to  bed,  for  they  had  not  seen  their  good 
friend  much  of  late.  But  they  moved  out  when 
John  Rutledge  bade  them,  and  after  a  half -hour 
of  conversation  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rutledge  gave  the 
room  to  Ann  and  Abe. 

"Don't  forget  to  cover  the  coals,  Ann,*'  her 
mother  had  said  as  she  left  the  room. 

"Where's  the  book.   I  haven't  read  my  poem 

248 


COVERING  THE  COALS 

for  a  long  time,"  Abe  Lincoln  said  when  they 
were  alone. 

Ann  took  the  book  from  her  table-drawer 
and  found  the  poem  entitled,  "Immortality." 
Lincoln  read  a  few  verses. 

"It  doesn't  say  much  about  immortality — 
does  it?"  Ann  asked. 

' '  Not  much,  but  it  means  it,  because  of  course 
the  souls  of  men  and  of  women  do  not  wither 
and  die  like  the  leaves  of  the  willow  and  the  oak. 
But  I  should  never  have-  known  the  meanin' — 
the  full,  sure  meanin'  of  the  word,  nor  have 
entered  into  the  better  spirit  of  the  poem,  if  it 
had  not  been  for  you,  Ann  Eutledge." 

"I  am  glad  if  I  have  helped  you,  but  put  the 
book  away.  Let's  tell  our  fortunes  in  the  fire." 

Lincoln  put  the  book  on  the  table  and  stirred 
up  a  bed  of  glowing  coals.  Then,  side  by  side, 
they  lookedj  into  the  future. 

"Look,"  she  said,  "at  the  lines  just  there. 
I  have  a  long  life-line — so  long  I  must  be  going 
to  live  a  hundred  years." 

He  laughed. 

' '  And  yours  is  long.  And  right  in  there  there 
is  a  wedding — and  over  there  are  one,  two,  three 
— at  least  half  a  dozen  children  for  me."  She 

249 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

laughed  and  stirred  the  coals  again.  '  *  This  now 
is  your  fortune.  I  see  journeys  and  lots  of 
people.  I  believe  I  see  the  capitol  building 
at  Vandalia.  Maybe  you  are  going  to  be  a  great 
judge  or  some  state  official. ' '  She  stirred  again, 
but  this  time  she  turned  and  said,  "I've  always 
wished,  Abraham,  that  you  knew  some  love- 
stories." 

"I  do,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"You?"  and  she  opened  her  blue  eyes  wide. 

"Yes — the  best  in  the  world." 

"Where  did  you  get  them?  You  never  read 
story-books. ' ' 

"The  best  books  and  the  greatest  books  in 
the  world  are  full  of  love-stories.  In  fact,  Ann, 
if  love  and  love-stories  were  taken  out  there 
wouldn't  be  anything  left  for  the  other  fellow  to 
write  a  book  about. 

"How  about  Blackstone — couldn't  he  write  a 
book?" 

"No.  In  a  world  without  love  there  would 
be  no  matin'  in  the  springtime  and  no  people  to 
write  about." 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  I  was  talking  about 
just  plain  love-stories. " 

"So  am  I.    I've  read  Shakespeare.    Did  you 

250 


COVERING  THE  COALS 

ever  hear  his  love-story  about  Antony  and  Cleo 
patra?  It's  one  of  the  greatest  love-stories  in 
the  world.  She  went  to  him  in  a  wonderful, 
golden  barge  with  purple  silk  sails  and  flower- 
decked  maidens  dancin'  under  its  Tyrian  purple 
canopies.  Little  boats  swarmed  all  about  it, 
burnin'  incense  so  that  it  was  wafted  on  the 
water  in  perfumed  breezes.  This  was  the  ship 
the  fairy  Egyptian  went  to  Antony  in.  Theirs 
was  the  love  stronger  than  death.  We  will  read 
it  some  time." 

"I  like  it — tell  me  more." 

"You  know  the  love-stories  in  the  Bible: 
the  one  about  Euth  and  Boaz,  a  little  out  of  place 
these  times,  but  good  for  its  day.  You  know 
the  unruly  passion  that  caused  poor  old  Sam 
son's  downfall,  a  love-affair  in  which  he  loved 
fiercely  but  not  wisely.  But  the  story  that  to 
my  mind  means  more  than  them  all,  is  the  story 
about  Jesus  and  Mary." 

"Oh,  Abraham!"  she  said  with  a  start. 
"You  don't  mean  that  Jesus  loved  Mary." 

"Of  course  He  did.  Didn't  he  love  every 
body?  What  else  can  you  make  of  the  incident 
where  Mary,  so  anxious  to  show  her  love  in 
some  unusual  way,  went  to  the  dinner  where  she 

251 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

emptied  her  vase  of  costly  perfumes  on  his  hair 
and  feet !  Do  you  remember  that  her  act  imme 
diately  called  forth  unkind  comment  and  the 
sort  of  criticism  that  hurts  a  gentle  woman  be 
yond  the  power  of  words  to  tell?  What  did 
Jesus  do  f  Did  He  sit  by  dumb  like  a  coward  and 
let  her  feelin's  be  wounded  when,  whether  wisely 
or  unwisely  she  had  sought  to  prove  her  love? 
Was  He  afraid  of  those  sharp-tongued  men?  I 
tell  you,  Ann,  every  time  I  read  the  story,  this 
Jesus  the  world  loves  looms  up  bigger  and 
grander  and  more  heroic  and  sublime!  Such 
tender  consideration  as  He  showed  marks  a  man, 
a  man.  Do  you  remember  what  He  said  as  she 
sat  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears  before  those  men? 
'Let  her  alone,'  He  said;  then  He  spoke  the  few 
words  which  were  forever  to  link  the  name 
of  Mary  with  that  of  Jesus,  even  as  He 
prophesied. ' ' 

While  Ann  was  considering  this  somewhat 
new  view  of  an  old  story  her  Mother's  voice 
was  heard  calling,  "Don't  forget  to  cover  the 
coals,  Ann." 

Ann  reached  for  the  shovel. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  and 
moving  his  chair  closer  to  hers.  She  did  not  try 

252 


COVERING  THE  COALS 

to  withdraw  her  hand  from  the  large  one  that 
held  it. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  looking  into  the  fire. 
Then  he  turned  to  her.  ' '  Ann,  *  >  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  and  unsteady,  "Ann  Rutledge,  look  at 
me.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. ' ' 

Ann  turned  her  face  to  his.  For  a  moment 
he  seemed  to  search  it  with  a  gaze  as.  tender  as  it 
was  masterful  and  as  pleading  as  it  was  secure. 
"We  are  goin'  to  cover  the  coals,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  know,  Ann,  that  hearts  are  hearth 
stones  where  women  keep  the  live  fire  burnin'? 
My  hearthstone  has  been  ash-strewn  and  cold — 
with  nobody  to  cover  the  coals?" 

She  felt  the  large  hand  around  hers  tighten 
its  grasp,  but  he  yet  looked  into  the  fire. 

When  he  spoke  again  it  was  with  a  different 
tone.  The  pleading  was  gone.  There  was  a 
tone  of  masterful  security  in  it. 

"Ann,"  he  said,  "we  have  been  waitin'  for  a 
letter.  It  has  not  come.  The  time  is  now  past 
when  one  or  ten  thousand  letters  refusin'  to 
release  you  would  avail  anything.  When  a  man 
loves  a  woman  as  I  love  you,  it  is  his  God- 
ordained  privilege  to  get  her.  Do  you  under 
stand?  I  love  you.  I  have  loved  you  since 

253 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

before  I  ever  saw  your  face.  It  came  to  me  the 
night  I  heard  you  singin'  on  the  heights.  I  love 
you  more  than  anything  on  earth  or  in  heaven 
and  I  feel  some  way  that  love  like  this  can  come 
but  once.  I  love  you  and  I  would  give  my  life 
to  have  you  mine — to  cover  the  coals  on  the 
hearthstone  of  my  heart. ' ' 

There  was  such  an  intensity  in  his  voice,  in 
his  face,  as  Ann  had  never  seen.  There  was  a 
pleading  hunger,  there  was  a  suppressed  mas 
tery  that  she  was  conscious  of.  She  did  not 
take  her  eyes  from  his  face.  "Ann,"  and  with 
out  letting  go  of  her  hand  he  arose  and  drew 
her  up  before  him,  "together  we  stand  at  the 
most  momentous  time  of  all  our  lives — do  you 
love  me?" 

"Do  I  love  you  I"  Ann  half  whispered  with 
a  smile  that  turned  her  face  radiant;  meantime 
her  eyes  grew  shining  with  tears.  The  next 
instant  she  felt  those  long  arms  around  her  that 
Ole  Bar  had  hinted  would  be  useful  in  mating 
season,  felt  them  binding  her  slender  body  so 
close  she  could  hear  the  rapid  thumping  of  his 
heart,  and  he  kissed  her  with  the  savage  joy 
of  sweet  possession,  and,  cradling  her  face  in 
his  strong  hand,  he  held  her  cheek  against  his 

254 


COVERING  THE  COALS 

and  breathed  the  fierce  and  tender  joy  words 
could  not  tell. 

"Oh,  Abraham, "  she  whispered,  "do  you 
love  me  so  much — so  very  much." 

"Love  you?"  he  said  half  defiantly.  "You 
cannot  know,  for  you  have  not  starved  for  it  as 
I  have.  I  love  you,  Ann  Rutledge — not  for  a 
week  or  a  month,  or  a  year,  but  until  this  mortal 
shall  have  put  on  immortality;  for  if  souls 
are  immortal  as  you  have  taught  me,  love  is 
eternal." 

A  moment  longer  they  stood  in  each  other's 
arms.  Then  he  held  her  away  from  him,  looked 
at  her  and  in  serious  tones  said,  ' '  Sing  for  me, 
Ann:  just  one  stanza  of  that  good  old  hymn, 
1  This  is  the  way  I  long  have  sought. '  ' ' 

"Hear  Ann,"  Mrs.  Eutledge  said  to  her  hus 
band  as  the  old-time  music  of  happy  laughter 
sounded  on  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

* '  Good  for  Abe ! "  he  answered  drowsily ; "  let 
them  alone. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"HE'S  ETJINT  HISSELF  FOREVER " 

THEEE  was  no  one  in  New  Salem  surprised 
when  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  that  Abe 
Lincoln  was  setting  up  to  Ann  Eutledge. 

Indeed  that  seemed  quite  the  natural  thing. 
Both  were  favorites.  Both  were  different  in 
some  ways  from  any  others,  perhaps  superior, 
and  both  were  everybody's  friends.  The  won 
derful  change  in  Ann,  too,  was  a  source  of  pleas 
ure  to  all  who  knew  her,  for  she  had  not  been 
able  to  hide  the  disappointment  and  embarrass 
ment  through  which  she  had  passed. 

Abe  Lincoln  had  always  been  fairly  happy 
so  far  as  any  one  knew.  He  seemed  even  more 
happy  now,  and  quite  naturally  the  people 
charged  this  to  Ann  Eutledge,  and  the  two 
words,  "Ann  and  Abe,"  began  to  be  every 
where  linked  together.  It  was  not  until  Thanks 
giving,  however,  that  any  definite  announcement 
was  made.  This  was  at  a  dinner,  the  biggest 
and  j oiliest  ever  given  in  New  Salem. 

"Mother,"  John  Butledge  had  said  to  his 
wife, ' '  the  increase  has  been  fair,  but  we  've  more 
than  increase  to  be  thankful  for.  Ann 's  got  back 

256 


"HE'S  RUINT  HISSELP  FOREVER" 

to  herself  again.  Fact,  there  never  was  a  time 
in  all  her  life  when  her  singing  sounded  so  good 
to  me  as  now,  and  she  laughs  as  if  there  were 
no  such  thing  in  the  world  as  trouble.  Then 
I'm  not  sorry  she  and  Abe  fixed  things  up.  Abe 
Lincoln's  got  some  future,  sure  as  two  and  two 
make  four.  It  does  seem*  outside  the  bounds  of 
all  reason  that  a  young  backwoodsman  that 
never  went  to  school  and  has  had  more  hard 
knocks  than  ten  men  generally  stands  up  under, 
could  ever  get  to  be  Governor  of  Illinois.  Yet 
who  knows — who  knows?" 

"John,"  Mrs.  Rutledge  answered,  "you're 
getting  visionary.  Just  'cause  you  like  Abe 
Lincoln  uncommon  well  and  he's  going  to  marry 
our  Ann  ain't  any  sign  he'll  ever  get  to  any  such 
exalted  position  as  Governor." 

"I  don't  know.  He's  doing  fairly — fairly. 
He's  the  youngest  member  in  the  Legislature. 
His  life  is  before  him.  He's  going?  to  finish  law 
next  year,  and  Major  Stuart  says  there's  no 
man,  old  or  young,  in  this  state  to-day  that 
knows  the  Constitution  like  Abe  Lincoln.  He 
may  never  get  there,  but  I'd  not  die  of  surprise 
if  he  did.  And  I'm  waiting  with  interest  to  see 
what  stand  he  takes  down  at  Vandalia.  But 
getting  back  to  Thanksgiving,  we  have  uncom- 

17  257 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

mon  things  to  be  thankful  for,  Abe  has  no  home 
and  like  as  not  nobody  ever  had  a  dinner  for 
him.  Let  Abe  and  Ann  have  a  dinner  and  invite 
in  some  of  the  young  people." 

This  plan  suited  Mrs.  Eutledge.  Abe  and 
Ann  were  delighted  and  preparations  were  at 
once  begun.  There  were  mince  and  pumpkin 
pies,  and  cakes  and  plum  pudding  to  be  baked, 
and  the  tenderest  pig  and  the  biggest  turkey 
on  the  farm  were  to  be  roasted.  The  cellar 
and  store-house  were  raided  and  in  the  woods 
Ann  had  the  good  fortune  to  find  a  vine  with 
shining  leaves  and  blue-black  berries  which  she 
twined  about  a  great  bouquet  of  evergreen  set 
in  a  frame  of  shining,  red  apples  in  the  middle 
of  the  table. 

Abe  stayed  near  Ann,  and  once  when  she  was 
making  pastry  for  jam  tarts  he  kissed  her,  until 
in  self-defense  she  powdered  his  black  hair  white 
with  her  flour-dusted  hands,  and  Mrs.  Rutledge 
laughed  until  she  had  to  rest  her  ample  body  in 
an  easy  chair. 

This  incident  was  not  long  in  getting  out,  for 
Nance,  who  was  present,  told  it  at  singing-school, 
and  it  was  passed  around  with  as  genuine  a  feel 
ing  of  pleasure  as  if  those  telling  it  were  them 
selves  being  kissed. 

258 


"HE'S  RUINT  HISSELF  FOREVER" 

"I've  been  looking  for  just  this  kind  of  love- 
affair  for  Abe  Lincoln,"  Hannah  Armstrong 
said.  "The  kind  that's  taking  up  with  every 
thing  that  swings  petticoats  only  has  skin-deep 
cases,  but  there 's  others  has  bone  cases.  When 
it  gets  in  the  bone,  ain't  any  use  ever  trying  to 
get  it  out." 

The  afternoon  before  Thanksgiving,  Abe 
Lincoln  announced  that  he  was  going  to  Spring 
field  on  an  important  mission.  What  it  was  he 
told  nobody  but  Ann's  mother.  Arm  had  an 
idea  the  mission  had  something  to  do  with  the 
festivities  of  tha  next  day,  but  no  hint  was 
dropped  as  to  what  it  was. 

With  Thanksgiving  came  the  dinner  and  the 
merriment  about  the  long  table  of  laughing  and 
story-telling  with  jokes  about  Ann  and  Abe,  for 
as  yet  the  progress  of  their  courtship  was  not 
definitely  known. 

Abe  and  Ann  had  been  put  side  by  side  in  two 
chairs  which  Nance  and  other  girls  had  deco 
rated  with  strings  of  pop-corn  and  sprigs  of 
green.  When  the  dinner  was  at  last  over,  Abe 
arose  and,  stretching  himself  to  his  full  height 
and  stepping  behind  Ann's  chair,  said,  "There 
are  all  sorts  of  Thanksgivin's  and  all  sorts  of 
things  to  be  thankful  for.  But  there  will  never 

259 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

be  another  one  like  this,  for  I  have  asked  Ann 
Kutledge,  the  sweetest  girl  in  all  the  world,  to 
be  my  wife,  and  she  has  done  me  the  honor  of 
givin  '  me  her  promise.  I  have  here  a  little  band 
of  gold  to  be  put  on  that  finger  which  it  is  said 
sends  the  channels  of  its  blood  directest  to  the 
heart.  It  has  words  inside  which  carry  the  world 's 
greatest  message.  Hold  out  your  hand,  Ann. ' ' 

The  speech  was  a  surprise.  Every  eye  was 
turned  on  Ann  as  Abe  Lincoln  took  her  hand  and 
slipped  the  little  band  on  her  third  finger.  John 
Eutledge  leaned  eagerly  forward.  Immediately 
there  was  a  great  clapping  of  hands  and  then  the 
young  people  gathered  around  Ann  to  see  the 
ring  and  to  learn  the  message  that  Abe  had  had 
put  in  the  ring. 

' '  Bead  it  Ann — read  it, ' '  they  cried. 

And  Ann,  her  face  shining  with  joy  and  pink 
with  blushes,  read,  "Love  is  eternal." 

She  looked  at  Abraham  Lincoln.  Their  eyes 
met  a  moment,  then  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her, 
and  again  the  young  companions  shouted  and 
laughed  and,  when  there  were  none  of  them  look 
ing  his  way,  Ann's  father  wiped  his  eyes. 

Just  a  few  days  later  Abraham  Lincoln  made 
ready  to  go  to  Vandalia,  seventy-five  miles  from 

260 


"  HE'S  RUINT  HISSELF  FOREVER  " 

New  Salem,  to  represent  Sangamon  County.  As 
usual  he  had  no  money,  but  he  had  no  trouble 
borrowing  enough  to  buy  a  cheap  suit,  which  was 
the  best,  however,  he  had  as  yet  put  on  his  back. 
John  Eutledge  furnished  the  horse,  and  Ann  and 
her  mother  looked  after  his  simple  outfit. 

"  Abraham, "  Ann  said  when  she  surveyed 
him  in  his  new  suit,  "you  look  so  nice,  only  your 
tie  is  crooked." 

He  pulled  it  around,  saying,  "Such  a  nui 
sance.  What  are  they  good  for,  anyhow? " 

Ann  laughed.  "You've  got  it  as  far  out  of 
line  under  your  left  ear  now  as  you  had  it  before 
under  the  right,"  she  said.  "Let  me  fix  it  for 
you."  Stepping  on  a  foot-stool  she  motioned 
him  to  stand  before  her,  and  straightened  his  tie. 

"Abraham,"  she  said  in  despair  before  he 
left  the  house,  "it's  crooked  again — your  tie." 

"Let  it  alone,"  was  his  answer.  "The  tie 
is  all  right.  It's  my  neck  that's  crooked." 

After  he  had  gone  Ann  began  spinning,  piec 
ing  quilts  and  hemming  linen  in  preparation 
for  a  spring  wedding. 

Both  John  Rutledge  and  Ann  heard  from 
Sangamon  County's  representative.  To  the 
father  he  wrote  that  he  was  forming  a  plan  to 
have  the  state  capitol  moved  from  Vandalia  to 

261 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Springfield,  in  his  opinion  a  much  better  point 
than  the  small  place  down  the  country.  What 
he  wrote  to  Ann  nobody  asked.  Sometimes  she 
let  her  father  and  mother  read  the  letters.  Once 
John.  Eutledge  read,  "I  am  glad  you  are  so  well 
— so  strong,  so  happy,  my  little  pilgrim.  The 
world  is  a  new  world,  Ann,  now  that  I  have  you. 
I  feel  some  insistent  force  pushing  me  on  to 
something — I  do  not  know  what.  But  with  the 
love  of  a  woman  like  you,  there  are  no  heights  a 
man  dare  not  reach  out  for." 

Meantime  discussion  in  New  Salem  about 
Lincoln  kept  up.  Almost  every  man  in  town  was 
of  the  opinion  that  Abe  was  going  to  be  some 
body,  but  they  all  waited  to  see  what  he  would 
stand  for  in  this  his  first  experience  as  represen 
tative  of  the  people. 

It  came  at  last.  Abraham  Lincoln  had  gone 
on  record  in  favor  of  woman  suffrage  and 
against  slavery. 

When  this  news  was  told  in  the  little  group 
of  which  Ole  Bar  happened  to  be  one,  he  was 
for  a  moment  struck  dumb  with  disappointment. 
Then  with  impressive  profanity  he  burst  out, 
"A  bar  would  have  more  sense.  Couldn't  he 
find  nothin'  in  Vandalyer  to  take  up  but  wimmin 
and  niggers?  He's  ruint  hisself  forever." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

GOD'S  LITTLE   GIBL 

EARLY  in  the  spring  John  Rutledge  decided 
to  move  from  Eutledge  Inn  to  his  farm  about 
seven  miles  beyond  New  Salem. 

Mrs.  Eutledge  and  Ann  suffered  the  pangs 
of  heart  that  come  to  women  when  they  must 
leave  homes  made  dear  by  the  birth  of  children 
and  of  love.  Aside  from  the  sentiment,  how 
ever,  Mrs.  Eutledge  was  glad  to  change)  to  farm 
life,  for  inn-keeping  had  been  hard  for  her. 

Ann's  chief  objection  was  going  where  she 
could  not  see  Abe  Lincoln  often,  for  his  survey 
ing  was  already  taking  him  much  away,  and  they 
both  knew  he  could  not  find  time  often  to  visit  the 
farm.  It  was:  also  decided  at  this  time  that  the 
wedding  of  Ann  and  Abe  should  be  postponed 
for  a  year. 

"Arm  needs  more  education,"  Mr.  Eutledge 
had  said,  "and  a  woman  has  to  get  what  she 
is  going  to  before  she  has  the  cares  of  a  home 
and  family.  And,  too,  you  should  finish  your 
law  course.  Then  you  and  Ann  can  set  out  in 
life  together. ' ' 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  Abe  Lincoln  said. 

263 


' '  Of  course  I  want  Ann,  and  the  sooner  the  bet 
ter.  But  I  can't  support  her  yet,  and  I  guess 
it's  not  fair  to  take  her  away. " 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that  at  all.  You  could 
get  along  some  way,  but  you  are  both  young,  and 
a  year  will  soon  pass." 

Shortly  after  this  Ann  began  studying  with 
Miss  Arminda  Eogers,  a  cultured  and  efficient 
instructor  who  was  to  prepare  her  for  a  year  at 
the  Jacksonville  Academy,  one  of  the  best  in 
the  state.  Abe  Lincoln  was  to  work  by  day 
and  study  by  night  to  finish  his  law  course. 

The  young  people  of  New  Salem  were  sorry 
to  see  Ann  leave,  but  seven  miles  was  not  too 
much  of  a  walk,  and  many  good  times  were 
planned.  The  most  important  merry-making  on 
hand  was  a  May  party  to  be  held  on  the  green 
beyond  New  Salem.  Abe  Lincoln  and  Ann  had 
both  promised  to  be  present,  and  all  the  young 
people  in  the  country  about,  even  to  "Baby" 
Green,  were  looking  forward  to  it  with  pleasure. 

It  was  a  merry  day.  Abe  Lincoln  romped 
with  the  small  boys.  He  climbed  saplings  and 
twisted  the  tender  branches  so  they  would  grow 
into  canes  to  be  some  time  carried  to  Spring 
field.  He  swung  the  girls  in  grape-vine  swings. 
He  held  one  end  of  the  jumping-rope  while  Ann 

264 


GOD'S  LITTLE  GIRL 

Rutledge  jumped  one  hundred,  and  her  combs 
flew  out  and  her  auburn  hair  went  streaming 
over  her  shoulders.  Then  he  picked,  up  the  combs 
and  tried  to  twist  her  hair  for  her,  and  the  chil 
dren  laughed  at  his  clumsy  effort  and  Ann's 
funny  coiffure.  Later  they  twined  a  vine  with 
flowers  about  her,  and  made  her  Queen  of  May, 
while  everybody  young  and  old  joined  hands  in 
a  ring!  and  danced  around  singing : 

Kneel  to  the  prettiest, 
Bow  to  the  wittiest, 
Kiss  her  who  you  love  best. 

"Who  is  the  prettiest?"  Abe  Lincoln 
shouted. 

"Ann  Rutledge,"  the  children  shouted  back. 
Then  they  dared  him  to  kiss  her,  which  he  did 
while  they  clapped  their  hands. 

Then  the  smallest  girl,  who  was  "Baby" 
Green,  was  told  to  pick  the  prettiest  man,  and 
she  called  in  her  piping  voice ' '  Linkin — Linkin, '  ' 
and  then  screamed  with  fear  lest  Ann  Rutledge 
should  kiss  him  and  not  she  herself,  and  again 
the  children  cheered  and  laughed. 

After  the  games  and  the  merriment  Ann  and 
Abe  Lincoln  slipped  away. 

"I  want  to  go  to  my  schoolroom,"  she  said. 

"Tour  schoolroom  f "  he  questioned. 

265 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"Yes,  down  to  the  creek  where  the  ferns 
grow.  I  have  no  such  place  at  the  farm,  and 
I  miss  it,  for  the  fern  dell  is  a  schoolroom  where 
I  learn  wonderful  lessons  from  the  growing 
things,  and  from  the  little  brook  which  goes  on 
its  unknown  way  to  find  its  mother,  the  ocean. ' ' 

So  they  started  away  across  the  field  toward 
the  creek.  They  did  not  notice  the  cloud  above 
their  heads  until  they  felt  raindrops  on  their 
shoulders. 

' l  Let 's  run, ' J  Ann  said, 1 1  over  under  the  hay 
stacks.  It 's  only  a  shower.  ' ' 

But  before  they  got  to  the  haystack  they  were 
both  wet.  When  Abe  Lincoln  expressed  some 
concern  about  Ann  she  only  laughed  and  said, 
"Am  I  sugar  or  salt  that  I  cannot  stand  a  little 
water?" 

"But  you  are  so  hot  now.  You  ran  as  fast 
as  I  did,  Ann. ' ' 

Together  they  drew  close  back  under  the 
straw  and  did  not  mind  the  minutes  lost,  for 
there  was  always  much  to  talk  about. 

When  the  shower  had  passed,  they  went 
on  around  the  hill  down  to  the  creek.  Here  they 
found  the  little  stream,  considerably  swollen. 
Coming  to  the  place  where,  on  the  opposite  bank, 
the  ferns  were  growing,  Ann  stepped  to  the 

266 


GOD'S  LITTLE  GIRL 

water's  edge  and  standing  on  a  stone  sang: 

On  Jordan's  stormy  banks  I  stand 
And  cast  a  wistful  eye. 

The  next  moment  Abe  Lincoln  had  taken  her 
in  his  strong  arms  and  put  her  across  to  the 
other  hank. 

"Look,  Abraham,"  she  said  pointing  to  the 
lacy,  green  leaves.  "Do  you  notice  that  some 
are  longer  than  others  and  greener  and  stronger? 
"Well,  in  this  difference  lies  a  secret." 

She  sat  down  on  a  shelf  of  rock  and  began 
pushing  the  brown  leaves  and  mould  away  from 
something.  Her  face  was  bright  with  interest. 
But  Abe  Lincoln  was  not  yet  interested  in  what 
she  was,  but  in  her.  "See  here  is  the  dirt  in 
which  this  little  sickly  plant  grows  and  its  roots 
go  no  farther  than  this,"  and  she  measured  a 
finger  length.  '  *  But  the  roots  of  this  big,  strong 
plant  go  too  deep  for  measurement,  and  so  I 
learn  that  the  blacker  the  soil,  and  the  deeper 
the  plant  goes  into  the  dark  and  the  silence,  the 
higher  it  reaches  toward  the  blue  sky.  Isn't  it 
wonderful  that  even  little  plants  can  preach  such 
great  sermons  1 ' ' 

"Tongues  in  the  trees,  books  in  the  runnin' 
brooks,  sermons  in  stones  and  good  in  every 
thing,"  Abe  Lincoln  repeated. 

267 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"That  sounds  like  the  Bible,  but  I've  never 
found  it  there. ' ' 

1 '  It  got  left  out, ' '  he  laughed.  ' 1  Shakespeare 
put  it  in  his. ' ' 

Ann  smiled,  but  she  had  something  more  to 
say. 

"When  I  come  here,  Abraham,  I  think  of 
you.  I  can 't  say  you  are  like  a  fern,  they  are  too 
small  and  weak  among  the  growing  things.  You 
are  like  a  wonderful  tree  that  reaches  up  above 
every  other,  and  the  reason,  I  am  sure,  is  be 
cause  the  roots  of  your  life  have  gone  deeper  into 
the  dark  and  the  silence  than  the  rest  of  them. 
When  I  hear  them  talking  in  class-meeting  about 
*  growing  in  grace  and  the  knowledge  of  God,'  I 
think  of  you  and  my  ferns,  and  I  say, '  Out  of  the 
depths,  fresh  strength ;  out  of  the  dark,  new  life ; 
and  even  in  the  gloom  we  are  on  the  way. ' ' ' 

He  was  listening  intently  now.  ' '  But,  Ann, '  ' 
he  said/ '  the  ferns  come  to  life  only  to  die  again. ' ' 

"Yes,  and  come  back  more  and  better  the 
next  season.  It  is  not  the  special  leaf  nor  flower 
that  is  eternal;  these  are  but  the  forms.  It  is 
life  itself  that  is  eternal.  And  the  burial  in  the 
dark  does  not  kill  it.  Last  year  there  were  two 
leaves  here,  this  year  there  are  six,  next  year 
there  will  be  a  whole  family.  It  is  life  more 

268 


GOD'S  LITTLE  GIRL 

abundant,  Abraham,  and  from  it  all  I  learn  to  go 
on  my  way  as  the  brook  goes,  singing  always. ' ' 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  sound  in  the  fern- 
dell  except  the  tinkling  music  of  the  water  run 
ning  over  the  stones. 

"I  wonder  what  it  all  means,"  he  observed. 
* '  Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  am  a  child  of  some  dark 
tragedy.  Again  I  feel  like  I  am  a  child  of  special 
Providence.  I  wonder  which  I  am — perhaps 
neither." 

'  *  Perhaps  both, ' '  she  said.  '  *  Great  suffering 
and  great  joy  belong  to  the  same  soul. ' ' 

Ann  was  still  sitting  on  the  damp  rock  with 
her  vine  wreath  in  her  hair.  Through  the  tall 
trunks  of  the  trees  on  the  bluff  above,  the  sun 
light  fell  into  the  ravine,  a  ray  falling  across  her 
head  and  shoulders. 

As  if  he  had  forgotten  everything  else,  Abe 
Lincoln  now  turned  his  attention  to  her.  He 
looked  long  and  earnestly. 

' c  Ann — Ann — is  it  true  ?  * ' 

""What?"  she  said  with  some  surprise. 

"That  you  are  mine." 

"What  a  strange  question." 

"I  am  afraid  sometimes  that  it  is  too  good 
to  be  true.  I  have  never  known  such  happiness — 
such  riches — such  enlargement  of  my  soul  as 

269 


THE  SOUL  OF^ANN  RTJTLEDGE 

since  I  have  known  you.  Many  men  have  claimed 
to  get  to  God  through  his  Son.  I  am  findin'  my 
way  through  one  of  his  daughters. ' ' 

"No — no — I  am  only  God's  little  girl — his 
little  schoolgirl,  and  just  beginning  to  learn. 
Sometimes  I  cannot  understand  it  from  the 
preachers, but  here  God  teaches  me  quite  easily. ' ' 

"God's  little  girl,"  he  repeated.  "Well,  I 
need  not  be  jealous  of  Him.  He  will  give  me  a 
square  deal.  He  '11  not  take  you  away  from  me. ' ' 

"Oh,  Abraham, "  she  said,  rising  hurriedly, 
"I  am  going  to — to ,"  and  she  sneezed. 

"You  are  catching  cold,"  he  said,  stooping 
to  pick  up  the  vine  leaves  that  had  fallen  from 
her  head.  "What  did  I  let  you  sit  on  that  damp 
stone  for?  I  don't  know  the  first  thing  about 
takin '  care  of  a  woman. ' ' 

"You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  learn,"  she 
laughed,  holding  out  her  hands  for  the  wreath. 

"I  should  like  to  keep  this  always,  but  it  will 
wither. ' ' 

"Let  us  leave  the  Queen's  crown  on  her 
throne,"  and  he  took  the  wreath  from  her  and 
put  it  on  the  stone  where  she  had  been  sitting. 

Then,  with  his  strong  arms  to  help  her,  they 
left  the  quiet  place,  climbed  the  bluff  and  hur 
ried  home  across  lots  to  the  Butledge  farm. 


CHAPTEE  XXX 

THE  END  OP  JUNE 

IT  WAS  June.  On  the  farm  the  young  corn 
shimmered  in  long,  green  rows.  In  the  corners 
of  fences  and  along  the  edges  of  the  woods,  wild 
roses  were  blooming. 

Abe  Lincoln  and  Ann  had  sent  messages  back 
and  forth  but  he  had  seen  her  only  once  since  the 
May  party,  until  the  month  of  June  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  when  he  took  time  to  go  out  to  the 
farm  for  an  all-night  visit. 

He  found  her  apparently  well  and  happy, 
though  she  was  taking  cough  syrup. 

"Ann  caught  cold  at  the  May  party, "  Mrs. 
Eutledge  said.  "It's  nothing  much,  only  we 
don't  want  her  throat  to  get  sore  so  she  cannot 
sing. ' ' 

After  the  early  supper  Ann  and  Abraham 
went  out  for  a  walk.  "Don't  let  her  stay  out 
too  long, ' '  Mrs.  Rutledge  counseled.  ' '  Mght  air 
and  cough  syrup  don't  get  on  well  together." 

To  them  both  it  was  a  strangely  pleasant 
walk,  for  they  were  both  working  to  the  same 
end ;  and  this  night  they  talked  about  what  the 

271 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

future  had  in  store  for  them  when  they  should 
live  their  lives  together. 

"By  another  June  we  will  have  our  own 
home,"  he  said.  "I  have  never  had  a  home. 
I  had  a  mother  with  the  sort  of  love  without 
which  there  can  never  be  a  home.  But  it  was  not 
in  her  power  to  make  our  dwellin '-place  much 
better  than  the  homes  mother  animals  provide. 
Our  home  will  never  be  grand  but  there  will  be 
no  other  home  like  it  in  all  the  world." 

"Then  I  can  help  you  study,  and  you  can 
help  me.  I  will  have  to  pry  you  away  from  your 
books,  perhaps,  and  poke  food  into  your  mouth." 

And  so  they  laughed  and  planned  and  kept 
close  to  each  other  until  he  said/ '  Ann, you  're  not 
going  your  usual  gait  tonight.  Are  you  tired ! ' ' 

"Yes — and  I  don't  know  why.  I  haven't 
done  anything  much  to-day.  Let's  take  hold  of 
hands  as  we  did  at  the  May  party  and  play  we  're 
children,  only  I'll  walk  if  you  don't  mind.  How 
big  and  strong  and  comfortable  your  hand  is 
Abraham.  I  could  shut  my  eyes  and  almost 
believe  it  was  God  leading  me  on." 

He  held  her  hand  a  little  tighter.  She  stopped 
a  moment  to  cough. 

"Hadn't  we  better  go  in,  Ann?" 

272 


THE  END  OF  JUNE 

"No.  It's  such  a  lovely  evening — like  the 
night  at  the  mill,  and  I  do  not  see  you  often — not 
half  enough.  I  could  not  endure  it,  only  I  know 
that  we  are  both  working  hard  so  that  just  a  little 
later  we  can  be  together  all  the  time.  Let  me  stay 
out  a  long  while  with  you.  I  love  to  be  near  you. ' ' 

"As  you  say,*'  he  answered,  "but  I'm  not 
so  forgetful  this  time,"  and  he  took  off  his  coat 
and  wrapped  it  about  her.  They  went  on  a  little 
farther  until  they  came  to  the  steps  over  the 
stile  and  here  they  sat  down  and  he  drew  her 
close  to  him. 

Somewhere  down  in  the  shadows  a  whippoor- 
will  called.  Then  from  far  across  the  meadow  the 
drowsy  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  reached  their  ears. 

"Listen,  Ann,"  Abe  said.  "It  makes  me 
think  of  the  night  I  heard  you  singin*  on  the 
bluff — the  night  I  fell  in  love  with  the  soul  of 
you  before  I  knew  what  your  body  looked  like. 
The  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  will  make  me  think  of 
you  and  your  song  as  long  as  I  live." 

' '  Just  as  the  smell  of  wild-plum  blossoms  will 
make  me  hear  the  mellow  music  of  a  horn  float 
ing  over  river  and  trees  and  make  me  think  of 
you  as  long  as  I  live." 

"Can't  you  sing  for  me,  Ann — your  pilgrim 

18  273 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

song  ?  How  I  would  like  to  hear  your  clear  voice 
ring  out  here  just  now. ' ' 

"How  strong  I  was  then/'  Ann  said  reflec 
tively.  "It  seems  a  long  time  ago.  Just  now  I 
am  not  so  much  of  a  pilgrim  as  when  I  herded 
home  the  cows.  Pilgrims  are  on  the  way  some 
where  you  know,  and  I'm  not  traveling  much 
these  days — just  to  my  school  and  back  and  help 
ing  mother.  "Will  you  wait  until  next  time  you 
come?  I'll  be  myself  again  by  then." 

"Look — the  evenin'  star  is  coming  up,"  he 
said  pointing.  "Twilight  and  evenin'  star  and 
here  we  two  sit  together.  Isn't  it  wonderful? 
The  world  is  new  to  me,  Ann.  The  same  fields 
are  here,  the  same  woods,  the  same  river  flowin' 
between  its  wooded  banks,  the  same  sun,  the 
same  people,  and  yet  all  is  changed — and  all  be 
cause  of  you.  I  hold  that  man  to  be  most  pitied 
of  all  men  who  does  not  know  the  meanin'  of  love. 
I  used  to  wonder  just  what  was  meant  by  the 
words  'God  is  love*  until  I  met  you.  Now  I 
know  that  love  is  life.  God  is  the  life  of  the 
world.  This  is  love  and  so  with  the  end  of  June 
old  things  have  passed  away.  All  has  become 
new.  My  cup  runneth  over." 

"Do  you  know  it,  Abraham — the  rest  of  it? 

274 


THE  END  OF  JUNE 

Let  us  say  it  together.  'The  Lord  is  my  shep 
herd;  I  shall  not  want.  He  maketh  me  to  lie 
down  in  green  pastures ;  he  leadeth  me  beside  the 
still  waters.  He  restoreth  my  soul/  .  .  .  We 
will  teach  it  to  our  children,"  said  she. 

"Our  children,"  he  repeated  in  a  strangely 
changed,  new  voice.  He  arose,  stepped  down  the 
stile  and  stood  looking  up  at  Ann.  The  pale  light 
fell  on  her  shining  hair.  Her  face  was  radiant. 

"Our  children, "  he  again  said.  "There  is 
one  way  too  sacred  for  man's  understanding. 
It  is  the  sacred  way  of  woman's  crowning  glory 
— Motherhood.  I  have  thought  of  it — of  the 
mothers  of  men.  The  mother  of  Jesus,  what  a 
great  mother,  yet  poor  beyond  compare.  Her 
baby  born  in  a  stable.  His  life  lived  close  to  the 
hearts  of  the  poor  people,  His  own  and  His 
mother's  kind.  It  may  be  true  that  the  mother 
would  not  have  been  known  to  the  world  save 
through  the  Son.  But  without  such  a  mother 
the  worid  would  not  have  heard  of  the  Son. 

"And  I  think  of  another  mother  whose  kind 
face  was  lit  with  a  holy  light  of  love  for  her 
children.  She,  too,  had  a  son.  He  was  born  in 
a  hut.  He  learned  to  learn  the  sufferin'  of  his 
mother's  kind — the  poor.  If  God  shall  let  him 

275 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

do  some  little  part  in  makin'  the  world  a  better, 
happier  place  for  tlie  poor  and  helpless,  his 
mother 's  name  will  not  be  forgotten,  for  what 
ever  he  may  do  he  would  not  have  done  without 
that  mother. " 

While  speaking  these  words  the  homely  man 
had  turned  majestic.  His  long,  bent  figure 
seemed  in  the  twilight  to  rise  to  a  tremendous 
height.  "And  in  the  days  to  come,"  he  con 
tinued,  "though  I  may  never  reach  the  shinin' 
goal  of  great  achievement  the  son  of  Arm  Eut- 
ledge  will,  for  never  yet  has  any  man  been 
blessed  with  such  a  mother  as  she  will  be." 

Ann  looked  at  him  in  wonderment.  For  the 
passing  moment  she  seemed  to  be  near  a  divinity. 

"Abraham,"  she  whispered,  "you  make  me 
feel  like  taking!  off  my  shoes.  This  place  seems 
holy  and  you  are  its  prophet." 

They  walked  slowly  toward  the  house.  The 
shades  of  night  were  falling.  The  far  bells 
sounded  at  intervals.  The  evening  star  looked 
down  on  them. 

How  could  the  man  know  as  he  held  the 
woman  that  he  loved  close  to  him  under  the  violet 
vale  of  the  calm  June  night  that  it  was  the  little 
pilgrim's  last  earthly  walk  with  him? 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

STEONGEB  THAN  DEATH 

DURING  July,  Ann  stopped  her  studies  with 
Miss  Rogers  until  she  should  get  stronger.  The 
weather  was  hot  and  she  had  already  made  such 
good  preparation  for  entering  the  Jacksonville 
School  that  her  mother  thought  a  little  rest 
would  be  of  benefit  to  her. 

When  Abraham  Lincoln  visited  her  he  found 
her  leaning  back  in  a  big  chair,  a  piece  of  needle 
work  and  her  little  grammar  in  her  lap. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  drew  him  down  to  her 
and  kissed  him.  "I  am  trying  to  recall  every 
word  my  teacher  said  to  me  the  night  I  was 
taught  'To  love,'  "  she  said,  laughing. 

They  did  not  leave  the  house  this  time.  They 
talked  over  much  of  the  past  that  was  happy 
and  made  pflans  for  their  future  and  Ann  showed 
him  some  of  the  linen  towels  and  table-covers 
she  had  made  and  they  talked  of  the  books  they 
would  have  in  their  little  home. 

"I  should  like  to  hear  you  read  your  favorite 
poem,"  she  said.  "Lines  of  it  come  to  me  and 
make  me  think — think  of  many  things. "  So  he 

277 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

read  the  poem,  and  when  it  was  put  aside  they 
went  back  to  their  plans  and  were  happy. 

After  this  visit  there  were  several  new  farms 
to  be  surveyed  and  a  town  to  be  platted  and  Abe 
did  not  get  back  to  Ann  until  near  the  middle  of 
August.  He  saw  Dr.  Allen  in  New  Salem,  who 
told  him  Ann  was  not  getting  along  well. 
1 1  We  Ve  never  been  able  to  break  up  the  cough, 
and  she's  not  mending.  Better  run  out,  Abe." 

Immediately  all  work  was  dropped  and  Abe 
Lincoln  hastened  across  the  country  to  the  Rut- 
ledge  farm. 

He  was  met  by  Mrs.  Kutledge.  She  greeted 
him  kindly,  but  the  enthusiasm  of  her  usual 
motherly  greeting  was  not  there.  He  did  not 
have  time  to  wonder,  for  he  was  quietly  shown 
into  Ann's  room  and  the  door  closed. 

He  found  her  lying  on  a  bed  and  in  a  loose 
garment  not  like  the  trim  dresses  he  had  always 
seen  her  in.  Nor  was  her  fair  hair  coiled  about 
her  head  and  held  with  combs,  but  lay  beside 
the  pillow  in  a  long  braid.  Her  cheeks  were  like 
wild  roses  and  her  violet  eyes  shone  with  a 
strange  brightness.  She  was  beautiful,  but  her 
face  was  thin  and  there  was  a  pinched  expression 
Abe  Lincoln  did  not  understand.  He  looked  at 

278 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH 

her  a  minute  then  bent  over  and  put  his  arms 
around  her. 

"Lift  me  up,  Abraham, "  she  said,  "I  have 
wanted  you  so — have  wanted  to  talk  with  you, 
for  I  have  been  lying  here  living  over  all  the 
happy  times  we  have  had,  and  nobody  in  all  the 
world  would  understand  but  you." 

He  sat  beside  her  on  the  bed.  She  leaned 
her  head  against  his  shoulder,  and  when  he  put 
his  arm  behind  her  for  a  support  he  could  not 
help  but  notice  how  thin  she  had  grown.  An 
expression  anxious,  inquiring,  came  over  his 
face.  But  she  was  looking  up  at  him. 

"We've  had  such  glad,  glad  days.  Do  you 
remember  the  day  the  raft  stuck  ?  I  seem  to  hear 
again  the  mellow  tones  of  the  horn  floating  in 
over  the  trees,  and  I  smell  plum  blossoms." 

Abe  Lincoln  touched  his  lips  to  her  forehead 
as  she  continued.  "How  little  we|  thought  then 
that  God  had  planned  us  for  each  other.  Then 
there  was  the  quilting-bee.  Do  you  know  Abra 
ham,  I  wouldn't  have  minded  your  holding  my 
hand  under  the  quilt,  if  I  hadn't  felt  it  was 
wrong.  I  liked  it.  I'm  glad  now  you  did  it." 

Abraham  laughed. 

"And  the  evening  at  the  mill  when  we  sat  in 

279 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

the  dark  together.  To  me  that  has  always 
seemed  a  holy  time.  It  was  so  different  from 
the  May  party.  How  we  romped  and  played 
that  day.  How  the  children  laughed  and  sang! 
How  I  jumped  the  rope  and — how  you  kissed 
me.  I  didn't  count  but  it  must  have  been  a 
dozen  times.  And  the  wreath  they  put  around 
my  head.  Wasn't  it  a  pretty  wreath?  And  we 
skipped  away  and  went  cross  lots  to  my  little 
schoolroom  where  you  picked  me  up  and  carried 
me  across  *  Jordan's  stormy  floods.'  " 

Again  Lincoln  laughed.  Ann  only  smiled, 
but  her  face  was  bright  with  happiness. 

"But  of  them  all,  Ann. — of  all  the  wonderful 
days  or  nights  the  time  I  heard  you  singin'  on 
the  bluff  comes  first. ' ' 

"You  have  not  forgotten  that,"1  she  said 
softly. 

"Forgotten?  I  shall  never  forget — neither 
in  this  world  nor  in  the  world  to  come,  for  that 
was  the  night  my  soul,  though  I  did  not  know 
what  was  the  matter  with  me  at  the  time,  began 
unfoldin'  itself  from  the  old  life." 

"Your  soul,"  she  repeated.  "Abraham,  we 
believe  in  souls,  don't  we?" 

"Yes." 

280 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH 

1  'And  we  believe  that,  though  our  bodies 
through  the  change  called  death,  drop  back  into 
the  pond,  the  new  creature  in  another,  better 
form  lives  on." 

' l  Yes,  Ann — we  believe  it. ' ' 

She  leaned  against  him,  and  breathed  heavily 
for  a  moment,  while  he  with  puzzled,  anxious 
face  watched  her. 

When  she  was  rested  she  said : ' '  Did  you  ever 
think  how  swiftly  thought  travels  ?  We  sit  here 
together  and  our  bodies  do  not  move,  yet  we  go 
to  the  river  and  the  mill ;  we  go  to  the  woodland 
and  the  bluff.  I  have  thought  about  it  and  I 
believe  that  souls  can  travel  as  quickly  and  as 
easily  as  mind — for  souls  have  lain  aside  the 
weight  of  the  earthly  body,  you  know.  Do  you 
think  souls  can  travel  this  way?'* 

"I  don't  know,  Ann." 

"I  believe  it/'  she  said  firmly.  "Our  souls 
can  travel.  And  so  my  soul  will  always  go 
wherever  you  are.  If  you  are  in  Vandalia,  or 
Springfield,  my  soul  will  be  there.  If  you  should 
get  as  far  away  as  Chicago,  even  there  my  soul 
will  be  with  you,  and  though  you  cannot  see  my 
face  or  hear  my  voice,  you  will  know. 

'  *  Sometime  there  will  come  to  your  heart  joy 

281 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

like  the  wild,  glad,  singing  joy  of  my  life  when  I 
could  run  and  shout.  It  will  be  then  that  the 
singing,  shouting  soul  of  Ann  Eutledge  is  quite 
near,  helping  you  rejoice.  Sometimes  when  you 
are  tired  and  weak  and  the  way  is  dark,  you  will 
feel  new  strength  bearing  you  up.  It  will  be  the 
soul  of  Ann  Butledge,  strong  and  free  trying 
to  help  you  out  of  the  gloom.  And  when  you  feel 
the  force  of  that  strange  power  that  makes  you 
different  from  all  other  men — that  makes  you 
tenderer  and  stronger — when  you  feel  something 
pushing  you  on  to  greater  things  as  the  wild 
phlox  is  pushed  through  the  sod  into  the  sun 
shine,  it  knows  not  how,  the  soul  of  Ann  But 
ledge  will  be  as  close  as  your  own  breath  to 
whisper  her  unshaken  faith  in  your  effort.  Then 
there  will  be  quiet  times,  perhaps  lonely  times, 
when  apart  from  all  the  world  you  will  feel  a 
gentle  tugging  at  your  heart.  It  will  be  the  soul 
of  Ann  Eutledge  saying  'I  do  not  want  to  be 
forgotten/  .  .  .  And  when  you  get  old,  dear, 
dear  Abraham,  when  your  eyes  are  too  dim  to 
see  other  faces  than  those  of  the  long-gone  past, 
you  will  hear  her  voice  who  has  been  sleeping 
under  the  grass  for  fifty  years — the  voice  of  Ann 
Rutledge  calling  you  on— -the  unforgetting  love 

282 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH 

of  Ann  Rutledge  as  strong  and  fresh  as  when 
she  shouted  on  the  heights  and  gave  herself 
to  you." 

She  had  been  speaking  slowly,  softly,  yet  with 
deep  feeling  as  if  half  to  herself.  She  was  not 
looking  at  the  man  beside  her,  whose  bronzed 
face  had  undergone  a  transformation. 

"Ann — Ann,"  he  cried,  "for  God's  sake 
what  are  you  talkin'  about?"  and  he  bent  and 
looked  into  her  face. 

"Dear,  dear  Abraham,"  she  said  soothingly, 
and  she  held  her  lips  in  a  close  pressure  against 
his  forehead,  his  cheeks,  his  eyes. 

"I  did  not  want  to  tell  you  we  are  going  to 
part.  It  seemed  I  could  not.  And  yet — yet — 
Oh,  Abraham! — I  am  so  tired— so  tired,  and 
the  heart  of  me  beats  weaker  every  day. ' ' 

He  put  her  back  on  the  pillow  and  threw  him 
self  down  beside  her.  She  put  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  drew  his  head  against  her  breast,  wiped 
the  tears  which  were  streaming  down  his  brown 
cheeks  and  tried  to  comfort  him  as  a  mother 
comforts  a  child. 

A  few  moments  he  sobbed.  Then  he  arose 
and  straightened  himself  to  his  full  height. 

"Ann,"  he  said,  "it's  all  a  mistake.    I  be- 

283 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

lieve  there  is  a  God.  If  there  is  and  He  has  any 
heart  in  Him,  He  will  spare  me  this.  I  have 
had  nothin'  but  you — I  ask  nothin'  but  you.  I 
have  never  loved  any  woman  but  you,  and  I 
never  shall,  for  none  can  take  your  place.  If  you 
should  be  taken  away  I  will  never  live  long 
enough  to  get  over  the  loss.  God  knows  this. 
He  is  not  cruel.  He  will  not  let  it  be  so — He 
will  not,  Ann ! ' ' 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  put 
his  arm  around  her. 

"Help  me  up  again,"  she  whispered,  and  she 
rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  She  had  been 
dry-eyed  and  had  spoken  with  a  steady  voice. 
Now  there  was  a  sob  in  her  voice  and  her  eyes 
were  blurred  with  tears  as  she  said:  "Put  your 
arms  around  me — your  big,  long,  strong  arms — 
and  hold  me  tight — tight.  Oh,  Abraham !  if  you 
could  only  hold  me  tight  enough  to  keep  me  here 
with  you !  I  do  not  want  to  be  bad,  but  I  do  not 
want  to  go  and  leave  you — no,  not  even  to  be 
with  God!  Oh,  Abraham!  will  you  pray  that  I 
may  stay  with  you — will  you?" 

"Pray?  Pray?"  he  groaned  in  pain.  "I 
will  pray  every  minute.  I  will  pray  while  I 
walk  with  my  rod  and  chains,  crossin'  the  fields, 

284 


STRONGER  THAN  DEATH 

skirtin'  the  woods,  walkin'  the  streets,  every 
where  I  will  pray." 

Ann  coughed  and  Lincoln  put  her  down.  He 
smoothed  the  coverlet  and  brushed  back  her  red- 
gold  hair.  Then  again  he  straightened  up  to  his 
full  stature. 

"Ann,  we've  both  been  frightened.  Your 
cough  is  better — it  is  looser.  I  am  sure  of  it. 
Ian  tit,  Ann!" 

There  was  an  appeal  in  his  tone  and  face. 

Ann  smiled — a  bright,  sweet  smile.  To  Lin 
coln  it  was  full  of  hope.  " Nothing  hurts  me," 
she  answered. 

Her  smile  was  reassuring.  Something  of  the 
anxiety  went  out  of  his  face.  ' '  Yes,  you  are  bet 
ter.  If  I  were  not  sure  of  it  I  would  not  leave 
this  house.  When  I  come  again  you  will  be  still 
better.  God  is  not  going  to  have  it  otherwise. 
I  have  never  done  Him  any  harm. '  * 

*  '  Dear,  dear  Abraham — how  I  love  you.  How 
I  shall  always  love  you — here  or  over  there.  For 
though  my  body  is  weak,  that  part  of  me  which 
loves  is  strong  and  well — very  strong,  and  it 
loves  you,  my  Abraham.  It  will  be  yours,  and 
will  be  with  you  longer  than  the  mind  of  man 
can  measure — for  I  know  now  that  love  is 
stronger  than  death." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  UNFINISHED  SONG 

DTJBING  the  month  of  August,  1835,  an  epi 
demic,  called  by  different  names,  one  of  which 
was  black  ague,  visited  the  country  about  New 
Salem. 

Dr.  Allen  was  busy  riding  night  and  day, 
and  Abe  Lincoln,  who  himself  had  suffered  one 
chill  and  was  taking  peruvian  bark  to  prevent 
a  second  one,  went  with  him  whenever  he  could 
get  the  time,  to  nurse  the  sick  and  sometimes 
help  make  a  coffin  and  bury  the  dead. 

Through  Dr.  Allen,  Abe  heard  from  Ann,  the 
good  doctor's  information  always  being  that 
Ann  was  about  the  same,  and  believing  her  bet 
ter  her  big  lover  went  to  others  who  seemed  to 
need  him. 

Then  Davy  was  stricken  down  and  Abe  Lin 
coln  made  his  plans  to  go  out  to  the  Eutledge 
farm  and  stay  as  long  as  needed  to  nurse  him. 
His  visit  was  hastened  by  news  that  Ann  had 
had  a  chill,  and  he  knew,  though  Dr.  Allen's 
words  were  few,  that  he  was  alarmed.  "She 
must  not  have  another,"  the  good  doctor  said. 
"She  is  too  frail  to  stand  it." 

286 


THE  UNFINISHED  SONG 

With  a  heart  almost  stopped  by  fear  Lincoln 
reached  the  farm.  His  greeting  by  Mrs.  But- 
ledge  and  her  smiling  face  reassured  him. 

"Aim  is  better,  Abe,"  she  said  gladly.  "She 
had  a  terrible  chill  last  night  and  for  a  time  we 
were  frightened  half  to  death,  but  she  will  not 
have  another.  She  really  is  better.  She  is  going 
to  mend  now.  Her  fever  is  dropping  off  and  she 
does  not  cough  so  much.  She  feels  like  herself 
and  has  been  singing.  She  wants  you,  Abe," 
and  good  Mrs.  Eutledge  laughed. 

As  he  entered  the  room  Abe  Lincoln  found 
Ann  propped  up  in  pillows  and  singing.  He 
almost  expected  to  see  her  active  young  form 
come  bounding  to  meet  him.  Instead,  she  held 
out  her  hand  and  with  a  face  wreathed  in  smiles 
said:  "Dear  Abraham,  God  has  answered  your 
prayers,  I  am  going  to  get  well. ' ' 

"Thank  God!  Thank  God!"  he  exclaimed 
fervently.  Then  he  stopped,  stood  back  and 
looked  at  her  a  moment.  "Oh,  Ann,  you  look 
just  like  an  angel  I ' ' 

"What  do  you  know  about  angels?  Anyway, 
I'm  not  going  to  be  an  angel.  I'm  going  to  stay 
here  to  bake  your  bread  and  darn  your  socks  and 
make  you  eat!" 

287 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Dr.  Allen  had  come  in  shortly  after  Abe  Lin 
coln  and  was  in  the  other  room  standing  with 
Mrs.  Butledge  by  Davy's  bedside.  When  Mrs. 
Eutledge  heard  the  happy  laughter  coming 
from  Abe  and  Ann  she  looked  at  Dr.  Allen  and 
said  with  tears  of  joy  in  her  eyes,  "How  good 
it  is  to  hear  Ann  laughing  again. " 

Dr.  Allen  glanced  at  her  questioningly.  He 
said  nothing. 

Ann  was  talking  again  of  the  beautiful  days 
that  were  past  on  which  her  mind  seemed  con 
tinually  to  dwell. 

"Do  you  know,  Abraham,  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  I  know  it,  but  I  believe  I  have  loved  you 
from  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you,  and  when  you 
asked  me  at  the  mill  if  you  might  love  me  I  was 
almost  sorry  you  did  not  ask  me  then  if  I  loved 
you — only  I  knew  you  would  not  think  it  right 
until  we  sent  that  letter  which  was  never 
answered. 

"But  the  night  that  stands  out  best  of  all  is 
the  night  we  covered  the  coals,  for  that  is  when 
I  first  felt  your  good,  strong  arms  about  me  and 
your  kisses  on  my  lips — and  all  over  my  face. 
And  the  very  best  day  of  all  the  days  was  when 
you  put  the  ring  on  my  finger.  Abraham,  let's 

288 


THE  UNFINISHED  SONG 

live  it  over  again,  that  night  and  that  day.  I 
cannot  stand  with  you  before  the  fire  now,  nor 
have  I  been  to  the  table  for  several  weeks.  But 
we  can  play  it,  can't  we?" 

"Yes,  indeed — make  a  Shakespeare  play  with 
two  scenes.  One  scene  will  be  by  the  open  fire — 
one  will  be  the  Thanksgivin'." 

* '  And  we  will  be  lovers. '  ' 

"I  never  intend  to  be  anything  else." 

"All  right,  begin.  Say  it  over — just  what 
you  did  the  night  by  the  fire." 

Very  tenderly  and  with  all  the  meaning  of 
his  soul  he  said  the  words  her  heart  was  hungry 
to  hear  again,  and  he  kissed  her. 

With  a  radiant  face  she  reached  under  the 
pillow  and  took  out  the  little  gold  ring. 

"Here's  the  ring.  It  won't  stay  on  now. 
But  put  it  on  just  as  you  did,  and  say  the  same 
words.  I  was  so  proud  and  so  happy  I  thought 
my  heart  would  burst,  and  my  thanksgiving  to 
God  was  very  real." 

His  face  was  sober  now.  He  took  the  ring 
and  the  thin,  white  hand,  and,  repeating  the 
words  that  had  made  her  so  happy,  he  slipped 
the  ring  over  her  finger  as  he  kissed  her  again 
and  again.  Then  he  lif  tod  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

19  289 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"You  are  getting  to  be  a  better  lover  all 
the  time,"  she  said.  "Hold  out  your  hand." 
She  put  the  tips  of  her  fingers  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand  and  the  ring  dropped  from  her  thin  finger. 
"Keep  it  for  me  a  little  while.  Don't  let  any 
one  get  it  and  don't  lose  it.  Now  shall  I  sing 
for  you?" 

' '  Yes,  Ann — no  music  this  side  of  heaven  will 
ever  be  so  sweet  to  me  as  your  singin'." 

'  *  Dear  old  goose, ' '  she  laughed.  ' '  Then  hand 
me  my  hymn-book." 

She  turned  the  pages  slowly.  "I  have  sung 
all  the  old  ones  and  found  some  nice  new  ones. 
Here  is  a  new  song — a  happy  song: 

What  a  mercy  is  this! 
What  a  hearen  of  bliss! 
How  unspeakably  happy  am  I, 
Gathered  into  the  fold — 

The  song  was  interrupted  by  a  slight  cough 
which  ended  in  a  choking  spell.  She  rested  a 
moment. 

"Do  you  like  it,  Abraham?" 

"Yes,  but  that's  not  my  song." 

"You  want  the  pilgrim  song?" 

"Yes,  my  little  pilgrim,  that  is  mine.    Can 
you  sing  it  ? " 
"Yes,  indeed,  and  I  want  to": 

290 


THE  UNFINISHED  SONG 

I'm  a  pilgrim  and  I'm  a  stranger; 
I  can  tarry,  I  can  tarry  but  a  night ! 

Her  voice  was  clear  and  steady.  There  was 
the  same  triumphant  ring,  the  same  quaver  and 
lengthening  of  certain  syllables.  But  the  strong 
buoyancy  had  given  place  to  something  sugges 
tive  of  an  echo  song,  and  it  seemed  to  the  listen 
ing  lover  that  the  message  came  from  some  more 
distant  heights  than  the  bluff. 

"That's  the  sample,"  she  announced.  "If 
it  sounds  all  right  I'll  begin  again  and  sing 
through  from  the  first — sing  it  all.  But  Abra 
ham,  put  the  big  shawl,  that's  on  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  up  here  handy." 

"Are  you  cold,  Ann!" 

' '  No,  not  yet — but  I  feel — feel  strange. " 

He  put  the  shawl  beside  her. 

"  It 's  handy  now.    I  '11  sing. ' ' 

Again  she  sang  the  lines  "I'm  a  pilgrim — 

I'm  a  stranger "  She  was  singing  slower 

now.  When  she  came  to  the  words  "I  can 
tarry,"  she  stopped  a  moment.  "The  shawl, 
Abraham,  wrap  it  about  me  tightly." 

"Let  me  call  your  mother,"  he  said  as  he 
wrapped  the  shawl  about  her. 

"Not  just  yet — not  until  I  finish  my  song. 
I  will  hurry.  'I  can  tarry — I  can  tarry '  " 

291 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Again  the  song  was  interrupted  by  a  struggle 
for  breath,  and  she  seemed  to  be  swallowing 
something. 

"Put  your  arms  around  me — I  want  to  fin 
ish."  Her  voice  wavered.  She  shivered.  Then 
came  the  words  quite  clearly,  but  sounding  very 
far  away,  "  'Do— not — detain — an® — — '  " 

Again  there  was  a  slight  struggle  for  breath, 
and  her  head  fell  against  his  breast. 

"Ann!    Ann!   What's  the  matter,  Ann?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

He  put  his  hand  under  her  chin  and  turned 
her  face  toward  him.  A  film  was  forming  over 
the  half -closed  violet  eyes. 

' '  Ann !  My  God !  Ann ! ' '  The  words  were 
wrung  from  him  now  in  fear  and  agony. 

Warm  and  close  she  lay  in  his  arms  like 
a  little  child — but  she  was  silent. 

He  placed  her  on  the  pillow  and  called  to  her 
again.  He  wrapped  his  fingers  about  her  wrist. 
He  put  his  ear  against  her  breast,  half  groaning, 
half  calling : ' '  Ann !  Ann !  * ' 

It  was  still  in  the  room.  He  arose  from  the 
bedside  and  slightly  raising  his  face,  which  was 
drawn  and  ashy  gray,  he  called : ' '  Ann !  Ann ! ' ' 

Again  the  silence. 

Then  with  such  a  groan  as  voices  the  agony  of 

292 


THE  UNFINISHED  SONG 

the  human  soul,  he  whispered  hoarsely:  "My 
God — why  hast  Thou  forsaken  me!'* 

A  moment  later,  Mrs.  Eutledge  and  Dr.  Allen 
who  were  standing  beside  Davy's  bedside  heard 
someone  step  into  the  doorway. 

They  looked  around.  There  in  the  open  way 
that  made  a  rude  frame  they  saw  a  picture  of 
unutterable  sorrow.  Deep  as  the  still  founda 
tions  of  the  finest  soul,  the  hurt  had  struck. 
Like  some  monarch  of  a  timber-line  twisted  by 
titanic  force,  so  he  seemed  to  have  been  ruth 
lessly  stormbeaten  out  of  semblance  to  his  for 
mer  self.  The  little  lines  that  had  traced  their 
way  on  a  young  man's  face  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  grown  deep  as  by  long  erosion,  and  he 
was  as  pallid  as  a  dead  child. 

He  seemed  to  be  making  an  effort  to  speak. 
The  muscles  of  his  face  twitched.  No  sound 
came  from  his  lips,  but  they  framed  the  word : 
"Ann!" 

"Abraham,  what  is  it?"  Mrs.  Eutledge  cried 
in  alarm. 

Dr.  Allen  ran  to  Ann's  bedside,  Mrs.  Eut 
ledge  following.  The  man  in  the  doorway  waited 
until  he  heard  a  mother  crying:  "No — no,  she  is 
not  dead!" 

Then  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

1 1 WHEEE  IS  ABE  LINCOLN  ! ' ' 

NEWS  of  the  death  of  Ann  Butledge  spread 
quickly,  even  Snoutful  Kelly  taking  the  news  to 
Muddy  Point,  and  though  there  was  much  sick 
ness  in  the  vicinity  a  large  number  gathered 
around  the  open  grave  where  her  young  body 
was  to  be  put  away.  Even  Clary  Grove,  with  a 
constitutional  dislike  for  funerals,  was  well  rep 
resented,  and  Ole  Bar,  who  had  made  his  boast 
that  he  had  never  been  to  a  "berrying"  in  his 
life,  stood  back  behind  the  trees,  holding  tight 
a  flower  which  he  had  picked  to  put  on  the  grave. 

Most  of  those  present  came  from  a  genuine 
love  of  Abe  and  Ann.  Some  came  to  see  how 
the  strongest  man  and  greatest  lover  in  Sanga- 
mon  County  would  take  his  bitter  loss. 

These  were  disappointed.  Standing  as  he 
did,  head  and  shoulders  above  any  other  man  in 
the  community,  it  would  have  been  unnecessary 
to  look  for  the  chief  mourner.  And  yet  every 
eye  around  the  grave  searched  for  Abe  Lincoln. 

While  the  preacher  was  trying  to  give  words 
of  hope  and  consolation  to  the  bereaved  ones  it 
was  quiet  in  the  place  of  graves  except  for  sub- 

294 


"  WHERE  IS  ABE  LINCOLN  " 

dued  sobs.  But  when  the  singers  began  the  old, 
plaint  hymn. 

Asleep  in  Jesus,  blessed  sleep, 
From  which  none  ever  wakes  to  weep, 

sobs  broke  out  everywhere,  for  the  melody  car 
ried  to  the  saddened  hearts  about  the  open 
grave  more  than  the  words  of  the  preacher  had 
done,  the  pain-filled  consciousness  that  the  voice 
of  the  gladdest,  sweetest  singer  of  them  all  was 
hushed  forever. 

After  the  simple  burial  ?rites  were  over, 
Nance  Cameron,  Miss  Rogers  and  others  brought 
armfuls  of  early  goldenrod  and  asters  which  they 
had  gathered,  to  cover  the  low  mound  of  the  best- 
loved  girl  in  New  Salem. 

It  was  not  until  the  company  had  gone  that 
Ole  Bar  came  out  of  the  woods,  and,  kneeling 
by  the  grave,  put  his  lone  flower  over  the  place 
where  under  the  earth  her  hands  were  folded. 

From  the  dead,  interest  turned  to  the  living, 
and  the  one  question  asked  by  his  friends  was : 
''Where  is  Abe  Lincoln!"  Dr.  Allen  asked  Mrs. 
Butledge.  She  did  not  know  and  asked  John 
Eutledge.  He  did  not  know.  William  Green  was 
asked  and  Mentor  Graham.  Nobody  knew  any 
thing  about  Lincoln. 

295 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Early  the  morning  after  the  day  of  the 
funeral,  Katy  Kelly  looked  out  and  saw  a  man 
coming. 

' '  Ma, ' '  she  called, ' '  there 's  an  old  man  comin ' 
to  our  place. ' ' 

Visitors  being  almost  unheard  of  out  there, 
Mrs.  Kelly  looked  out.  For  a  moment  she 
seemed  puzzled.  The  man  was  somewhat 
stooped  and  walking  slowly.  It  was  none  other 
than  Abraham  Lincoln. 

' '  Howdy,  Mrs.  Kelly, ' '  he  said  wearily.  ' '  I 
was  passing  by  and  thought  I'd  stop  a  minute." 

Mrs.  Kelly  hastened  into  her  one  room  and 
cleared  off  the  only  chair  in  the  house. 

'  *  Ma, ' '  whispered  Katy,  not  knowing  she  had 
ever  seen  him  before,  "What's  ailin'  of  that 
old  man?" 

"Shut  up,"  her  mother  whispered.  "His 
gal's  dead,  and  he's  not  got  over  it  yet."  Then 
to  Lincoln  she  said:  "You  look  nigh  starved, 
Mr.  Linking.  We  hain  't  much,  but  if  you  was  to 
refuse  I'd  feel  powerful  hurt." 

"But  I'm  not  hungry  at  all — I  couldn't  eat. 
I've  been  over  about  Concord  and  just  stopped 
to  get  a  drink  of  water." 

"We've  got  a  cow  since  Kelly  got  broke  up 

296 


"WHERE  IS  ABE  LINCOLN" 

from  dram  drinkin'.  You'll  take  a  cup  of  milk, 
I'm  sure." 

He  drank  the  milk,  thanked  her  and  went  on. 
She  watched  him  until  he  disappeared  behind 
the  trees.  ' '  He 's  a  awful-sized  man  to  take  it  to 
heart  so.  Don't  he  know  there's  as  good  fish 
in  the  sea  as  has  ever  been  caught?" 

The  second  night  that  Abe  Lincoln  was  miss 
ing  a  few  of  his  close  friends  held  a  council  at 
Dr.  Allen 's  house.  William  Green  was  there  and 
Mentor  Graham.  Dr.  Allen  had  been  telling 
them  that  Lincoln  himself  had  not  been  well  for 
several  weeks.  The  suggestion  that  he  might 
have,  in  a  moment  of  despair,  ended  his  life  was 
not  reasonable  to  those  who  knew  him.  Neither 
was  Dr.  Allen  of  the  opinion  that  the  shock 
would  impair  his  reason. 

'  *  Lincoln  is  large  in  all  ways.  He  has  a  great 
mind  and  a  great  heart.  He  has  been  a  great 
lover — the  greatest  lover  that  ever  lived  in  these 
parts.  Just  now  he  is  numbed  by  the  shock  of  his 
loss  as  one  is  numbed  by  a  great  blow.  He  is 
somewhere  alone  in  his  grief — no  telling  where. 
But  unless  he  has  food  and  medical  attention,  he 
too  may  follow  Ann  shortly.  We  must  find  him. ' ' 

While  they  were  discussing  his  whereabouts, 

297 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

Lincoln  was,  as  Dr.  Allen  had  supposed,  alone 
with  his  grief. 

After  a  night  by  the  grave  of  his  dead,  Abe 
Lincoln  set  out  at  twilight  of  the  second  day  to 
visit  the  places  where  she  who  seemed  yet  living 
had  lived. 

Turning  his  face  toward  New  Salem  he  made 
his  way  slowly  along  the  well-known  roadway 
to  the  place  where  he  had  dropped  his  bundle  and 
listened  on  a  never-to-be-forgotten  night  to  a 
sweet  voice  singing  on  the  heights.  Then  he  had 
been  a  friendly  stranger  in  New  Salem.  How 
fast  the  years  had  gone.  What  long  and  patient 
waiting  and  what  fulness  of  joy  had  been  their 
measure.  But  now  the  cup  was  bitter  to  the 
brim  with  the  stupefying  potion  of  dead  hope 
and  the  gall  of  human  loss. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  bluff  he  paused.  He 
moved  nearer  the  bluff,  raised  his  face  and,  with 
a  feverish  expectancy,  listened.  As  he  stood 
the  drowsy  stillness  was  broken  by  the  far,  faint 
tinkle  of  a  cow-bell.  For  a  moment  the  mirage  of 
hope  set  his  heart  beating  with  spasmodic  joy. 
It  was  all  a  fearful  dream — all  a  heart  crushing 
unreality.  She  was  yet  up  on  the  heights,  alive, 
glad,  singing  and  shouting.  He  listened,  even 

298 


"WHERE  IS  ABE  LINCOLN" 

straining  his  ear  for  the  first  notes  of  her  glad, 
free  song. 

As  if  she  were  not  yet  beyond  sound  of  his 
voice  he  called:  "Ann!  Ann!"  Again  he  lis 
tened  intently. 

The  gray  of  twilight  deepened.  The  dim 
music  of  the  far-away  bell  dissolved  itself  in 
a  pervading  hush,  and  all  was  still. 

In  a  voice  suggesting  the  pain  of  a  fresh  blow, 
the  man  in  the  shadow  whispered  with  upturned 
face,  "Ann!  Ann!"  The  whisper,  too,  was 
gathered  into  the  all-enveloping  gloom  and 
silence. 

He  went  a  little  farther  on,  the  soft  music 
of  water  running  over  stones  came  to  his  ear. 
It  was  the  stream  in  the  schoolroom  where  ferns 
had  been  books  and  God  had  been  the  teacher. 

Mechanically  he  turned  toward  it.  The  swol 
len  stream  across  which  he  had  carried  Ann  on 
a  night  not  so  long  ago  was  smaller  now.  He 
stepped  across. 

The  gray  of  the  open  road  deepened  in  the 
fern-dell  into  gloom.  But  no  light  was  needed 
to  bring  to  the  vision  of  the  man  the  picture  of 
one  he  yet  sought  in  the  land  of  the  living.  Again 
he  saw  her  with  the  sunshine  falling  over  the  red- 

299 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

gold  tresses  of  her  wreath-bound  hair  as  she  sat 
on  the  ledge  of  rock.  Again  he  heard  her  voice 
but  he  was  too  numb  now  to;  remember  its 
message. 

Groping  his  way  to  the  stone,  he  knelt  beside 
it  and  spread  his  hands  over  the  place  where  she 
had  sat.  His  fingers  came  in  contact  with  dead 
leaves.  Feeling  along  the  way  they  lay  he  found 
the  wreath,  yet  there,  that  had  been  a  crown  on 
May  day.  Lifting  it  gently  .he  cried:  "Oh, 
Arm !  Ann !  It  cannot  be.  You  have  not  gone 
away  forever !  You  will  come  back  to  me !  We 
will  have  our  little  home!  Oh,  Ann!  Ann!" 
His  pleading  voice  ended  in  a  groan.  He  dropped 
his  face  against  the  faded  leaves. 

How  long  he  remained  by  the  rock  and  the 
wreath  he  did  not  know.  After  a  time,  like  a 
crushed  and  wounded  animal,  he  crept  from  the 
place  and  proceeded  on  his  way  toward  the 
village. 

He  walked  slowly  a  few  minutes,  then,  as  if 
drawn  by  some  pleasant  fancy,  he  quickened  his 
pace.  The  roar  of  the  mill-dam  had  caught  his 
ear.  He  was  going  to  the  mill.  Here  was  a  place 
that  she  had  said  seemed  sacred  to  her,  and  he 
was  glad  when  the  dark  outlines  of  the  mill  stood 

300 


"WHERE  IS  ABE  LINCOLN" 

out  against  the  growing  shadows.  The  double 
doors  stood  open,  just  as  they  had  before.  He 
went  into  the  building  and  out  on  the  platform 
over  the  river,  just  as  he  had  before.  The  foam 
of  the  falling  water  shone  white  in  the  pale  light, 
just  as  it  had  before.  The  trees  cast  their 
shadows  and  the  stars  their  bright  reflections, 
just  as  before.  He  leaned  against  the  doorway 
as  he  had  done  once  before  when  in  great  gloom, 
then  he  waited  for  the  one  to  come  who  had 
brought  the  light. 

Several  times  he  turned  toward  the  door  as 
if  expecting  to  see  the  fair-faced  girl  emerging 
from  the  dusky  gray  and  coming  toward  him. 
In  a  sort  of  numb  expectancy  he  waited.  Once 
he  reached  out  his  long  arm  as  if  to  encircle  some 
near  object,  but  there  were  only  shadows  in  the 
dark. 

After  a  time  he  took  the  little  ring  from  his 
pocket.  He  moved  near  the  edge  of  the  platform. 
He  lifted  the  frail,  little  token  of  eternal  love 
to  his  lips  and  held  it  there  a  moment.  Then,  he 
reached  his  long  arm  out  over  the  foaming  water 
and  with  a  groan  let  the  ring  fall  into  the  depths 
of  the  smoothly  flowing  Sangamon. 

As  if  loath  to  leave  the  place  he  turned  back 

301 


THE  SOUL  OP  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

from  the  doorway  and,  leaning  against  the  wall, 
looked  out  into  the  darkness.  Shortly  after  he 
had  done  so,  someone  touched  him  gently  on  the 
arm.  With  a  great  start  he  cried:  "Ann! 
Ann!" 

A  small  figure  drew  back  slightly  and  a  voice 
said:  "I've  been  lookin'  fer  you,  Abry  Link- 
horn.  You  're  worse  than  a  bee  to  run  down. ' ' 

The  man  hesitated  a  second,  then  he  held 
out  his  hand  and  said,  "Howdy,  partner.  What 
did  you  want  with  me  ? " 

"I've  been  numerous  in  bar  hunts  as  you've 
heard  tell,  but  I  haven't  never  gone  to  no 
berryin ',  so  help  me  God,  but  the  berryin '  of  your 
Ann.  And  I  wouldn  't  have  gone  for  no  one  else 's 
'ceptin'  it  was  you.'* 

"I  wish  it  had  been,"  the  man  said. 

"Maybe  so,  but  since  I  was  thar  and  you 
wasn't  thar  and  I  heard  something  that  made  me 
pestiferous  glad  I  went,  I  thought  you  would  like 
to  hear  about  it." 

"You  are  kind  to  think  of  me.  What  could 
have  made  you  feel  glad  ? ' ' 

* '  It  made  me  feel  glad  to  learn  that  God 's  not 
— not  a  damn  fool." 

"How  did  you  learn  this?" 

302 


"  WHERE  IS  ABE  LINCOLN  " 

*  '  From  the  berryin'  itself.  The  parson  read 
out  of  a  book  that  when  this  here  meat  body 
changes  into  the  other  kind  like  Ann  Butledge 
has,  then  death  is  swallered  up  in  victory.  Don't 
this  sound  like  God's  got  horse-sense?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  God."  And 
there  was  bitterness  in  the  answer. 

"Yeh,  you  do.  You  know  nothin'  but  God 
could  make  a  gal  like  your  Ann  Rutledge.  And 
if  God's  not  a  blame  fool  he  made  her  for  some 
thing  more  than  the  little  time  she's  spent  in 
this  here  New  Salem.  I'm  not  promiscuous 
enough  to  tell  it  like  the  parson,  but  I'm  tellin' 
you,  Abry  Linkhorn,  that  when  I  set  by  that 
grave  and  put  my  flower  over  the  place  where 
her  hands  was  berried  and  said  what  I  didn't 
never  have  words  to  say  when  she  was  here  about 
thankin'  her  for  remembering  poor  Ole  Bar,  I 
know  she  heard  it.  She  didn't  say  nothin',  but 
I  seen  her  smile  and  I  know — I  know — curse  it, 
I  can 't  tell  what  I  know.  But  Ann  Eutledge  ain  't 
blowed  out  like  no  candle.  I  know  this.  And  I 
am  glad.  And  I'm  glad,  too,  Abry  Linkhorn, 
that  she  wasn't  none  of  my  gal.  If  you'd  seen 
John  Rutledge  standin'  beside  thai  grave  you'd 
been  glad  she  wasn't  no  flesh  and  blood  of  yourn, 

303 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

% 

I  never  knew  before  that  grizzle-tops  like  him, 
that's  men,  and  not  chipper-perkers,  liked  gals 
so  well.  He  didn  't  make  no  noise  like  her  mother 
did,  but  it's  still  water  that  runs  deep  and  he'll 
have  the  heart-bleeds  for  many  a  changin' 
moon." 

"Poor  Eutledge,"  Lincoln  said  brokenly. 
' '  I  must  go  to  see  him. ' ' 

"Yep,  and  there's  others  you  ought  to  go  to 
see,  and  you  can't  get  started  none  too  quick. 
The  whole  kit  and  posse  of  'em's'  about  to  start 
searchin'  fer  you;  Clary  Grove  to  boot.  Any 
reason  why  you  should  make  your  friends  beat 
the  bushes  when  walking's  good  and  you  ain't 
no  cripple?" 

It  was  this  appeal  that  turned  the  steps  of 
Lincoln  to  the  home  of  Dr.  Allen  as  he  and 
William  Green  yet  sat  discussing  him. 

As  Ole  Bar  and  Abe  Lincoln  passed  Eutledge 
Inn,  the  latter  looked  across  the  street.  A  light 
burned  in  the  window  of  the  room  where  Ann's 
little  sewing-table  had  been. 

The  tall  man  hesitated  and  moved  on. 


WHILE  Dr.  Allen  and  William  Green  were  yet 
discussing  the  strange  disappearance  of  Abe  Lin 
coln,  the  door  opened  and  he  stood  before  them. 

They  turned  toward  him  and  beheld  what 
seemed  a  wreckage,  wrought  by  hunger  and  long 
ing,  unrest  and  the  sorrow  of  a  loss  which  could 
never  be  made  good.  In  his  face  were  lines 
already  too  deeply  cut  for  Time's  erasure. 

No  word  was  spoken.  The  two  men  seemed 
awed  by  the  majesty  of  his  silence  and  strangely 
moved  by  his  dumb  sorrow,  and,  strong  men 
though  they  were,  tears  wet  their  cheeks. 

"Doc,"  Lincoln  said,  "how  long  will  this 
last — for  I  cannot,  cannot  bear  to  think  of — 

of " 

His  voice  grew  unsteady.  He  did  not  finish 
the  sentence;  instead  he  said,  "Is  there  any 
honorable  way  I  can  finish  it  all  ? " 

"You  do  not  want  to  finish  it.  You  want  to 
live  your  life." 

"I  have  lived  my  life." 

The  voice  seemed  far  away  as  if  from  some 

20  305 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

ancestral  tomb.  ' '  I  have  lived  my  life.  I  found 
it  here  in  New  Salem — and  I  will  leave  it  here." 

''No,  no.  You  will  feel  differently  after 
awhile.  You  will  want  to  live  for  the  things  that 
are  to  be. ' J 

"For  the  things  that  are  to  be?  What  can 
a  man  do  when  that  which  alone  could  make  life 
worth  living  is  taken  from  it  forever?" 

"  There  are  other  incentives  to  life  than  love. 
There  is  ambition  with  its  measure  of  fame,  and 
service  with  the  pleasure  of  duty,"  Dr.  Allen 
said. 

"Ambition — fame,"  Lincoln  repeated  wea 
rily.  "What  is  fame  but  a  bauble — a  passin* 
bauble. ' ' 

"But  think  what  you  may  live  to  do  for  hu 
manity  in  some  way  or  another.  You  have  made 
a  good  beginning — you  have  put  in  the  founda 
tion,  Lincoln.  You  might  be  Governor  of  Illi 
nois  some  day.  Think  then  what  you  might  ac 
complish  for  liberty — for  freedom  and  justice." 

"My  interest  in  these  things  is  dead.  Every 
thing  is  dead." 

' '  No,  not  dead,  only  numb.  Great  pain  brings 
numbness,  but  Time  heals  the  deepest  cuts.  The 
edges  stay  tender,  the  old  wounds  bleed  and 

306 


FOR  THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  TO  BE 

the  scars  remain.  But  in  spite  of  all,  the  numb 
ness  and  the  pain  give  way  in  time  to  the  healing 
forces  of  nature. ' ' 

Lincoln  dropped  his  head  wearily  on  the 
table.  He  was  ill,  tired,  hungry,  suffering  from 
loss  of  sleep — all  this  with  the  other. 

Dr.  Allen  looked  helplessly  at  Green  and 
wiped  his  eyes  again. 

"  Abe ' ' — it  was  Green  speaking.  * '  Can 't  you 
pull  yourself  together  for  a  little  while — at  least 
until  you  get  Jim  Henry 's  note  paid  f  Tom  Dick- 
son  from  up  near  Springfield  says  they're  having 
hard  luck.  He  was  over  their  way  and  found 
Jim's  wife  and  baby  sick  and  him  about  to  lose 
his  place.  Just  a  little  along  now  and  then  will 
save  the  day.  He  was  talking  about  your  note, 
said  you  would  pay  every  cent  of  it.  On  the 
strength  of  this  they  were  given  more  time. 
This  here's  a  plain  duty  and  a  man's  job,  Abe." 

Lincoln  raised  himself  and  looked  at  Green. 
"Jim  Henry's  dependin'  on  me  and  they've 
given  him  more  time  because  my  note  is  good?" 

"That's  it.  And  when  his  wife  was  down  a 
few  months  ago  and  went  to  see  Ann  Rutledge, 
Ann  told  her  you  would  pay  every  cent  of  it  if  it 
was  the  last  act  of  your  life. ' ' 

307 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"I  suppose  this  is  one  of  the  things  that  are 
to  be,"  he  said,  addressing  Dr.  Allen. 

''No  doubt.  And  with  the  days  that  follow 
new  duties  and  new  opportunities  will  unfold. 
'  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, '  the  hymn  book 
tells  us,  'His  wonders  to  perform.'  We  don't 
know  how  or  why,  but  back  of  it  all  He  moves, 
and  He  needs  strong  men,  men  not  afraid,  men 
who  cannot  be  bought  or  sold  to  stand  for  the 
interests  of  the  people  and  the  rights  of  those 
helpless  ones  who  are  always  the  prey  of  the 
powerful  and  unscrupulous. ' ' 

' '  Perhaps  you  are  right, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  I  '11 
not  neglect  a  duty." 

Thus  it  was  that  the  man  who  did  not  care 
to  stay  in  the  world  to  be  a  governor  chose  life 
with  all  its  losses  in  order  to  pay  an  honest  debt. 

Then  William  Green  delivered  a  message 
from  "Baby  Green"  which  was  a  pressing  invi 
tation  to  Abe  Lincoln  to  visit  her  for  the  very 
unselfish  reason  that  the  door  had  mashed  her 
toe  and  she  needed  a  great,  tall  horse  to  ride  her. 

So  Abe  Lincoln  went  home  with  William 
Green,  where  he  was  fed  and  looked  after  by  the 
motherly  Aunt  Sally  Green  and  where  he  was  in 
turn  expected  to  look  after ' '  Baby  Green. ' '  Here 

308 


FOR  THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  TO  BE 

children  came  to  romp  with  him,  books  and 
papers  were  sent,  and  occasionally  several  of 
the  old  friends  from  New  Salem  came  out  to  tell 
him  the  political  gossip. 

Aunt  Sally  found  something  for  him  to  do 
every  night,  for  she  did  not  want  him  wandering 
away  to  Ann's  grave.  He  made  no  effort  to  do 
so,  however,  and  after  a  few  weeks*  rest  he 
returned  to  New  Salem  to  take  up  his  life  as 
best  he  could,  and  day  by  day  live  on  for  the 
things  that  were  to  be. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  POEM 

THE  Clary  Grove  gang  were  going  to  have  an 
important  meeting.  It  had  been  rumored  that 
Windy  Batts,  who  went  as  a  missionary  to  the 
Indians,  had  lost  his  head.  The  general  satis 
faction  with  which  this  news  had  been  received 
by  the  Clary  Grove  gang,  singly,  indicated  that 
it  would  prove  a  pleasant  topic  for  discussion, 
and  nobody  was  likely  to  disagree  with  Ole  Bar 
when  he  said :  "Them  pizen  shooting  injuns  has 
riz  to  a  tall  and  mighty  pre-eminence  in  my  mind 
if  they  cut  off  that  fire  and  brimstone  croaker's 
rattle  box." 

Kit  Parsons  was  expected  to  divulge  a  plan 
for  giving  the  angels  another  job.  He  had  been 
desperately  sick  during  the  summer,  and  while 
lying  at  death's  door  a  local  religious  enemy  had 
said  the  gates  of  hell  would  soon  shut  Kit  in 
where  he  had  ought  to  have  been  before  he  was 
born.  Kit  said  he  had  pulled  through  to  fan  the 
face  off  of  this  profane  wretch  with  brick-bats. 
The  details  of  the  plans  expected  to  prove 
interesting. 

A  great  horse-swapping  horse-story  was  also 

310 


THE  POEM 

expected,  provided  Buck  Thompson  reached  New 
Salem  that  night.  He  had  been  up  the  Ohio 
Eiver  and  it  was  told  by  a  man  that  passed 
through  Sangamon  County  that  Buck  had  traded 
a  Yankee  out  of  a  horse  and  got  fairly  good  boot ; 
that  he  took  the  horse,  fed  it  some  filler,  painted 
its  ears,  trimmed  its  tail  and  dyed  it,  put  a  few 
dapples  on  its  hide  and  traded  it  back  to  the 
same  Yankee  for  yet  more  boot. 

The  group  was  about  the  fire  when  Buck 
came.  He  had  been  away  some  weeks,  and  before 
the  story- telling  started  he  wanted  to  hear  some 
thing  of  town  affairs. 

"Lots  of  sickness,"  Kit  Parsons  said. 

"Yeh?"  Buck  questioned. 

"Yes — Grandpa  Johnson's  dead  and  Clem 
Herndon's  boy  and  Ann  Rutledge." 

Buck  was  interested  now. 

1  <  Ann  Eutledge  dead  ?    No ! ' ' 

"Yeli— she's  dead." 

"Abe's  gal." 

"Dead  and  buried  out  near  Concord." 

"Poor  old  Abe.   Take  it  hard,  did  he?" 

"Nobody  knows.    He  ain't  saying  nothin'." 

"They  say  he  went  crazy  for  a  time,"  Kit 
Parsons  remarked. 

311 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

"They  lie,"  said  Ole  Bar.  "Abry  Link- 
horn  hain't  never  gone  nowhere  near  crazy  at  no 
time." 

"Maybe  he  didn't  go  clear  crazy,  but  Doc 
Allen  said  he  was  hit  hard  and  wasn't  likely  to 
git  over  it  no  time  soon. ' ' 

"I  bet  a  bottle  against  a  bottle  he's  over  it 
now,"  said  Buck  Thompson.  "Who'll  take  it 
up?  Will  you,  Jack  Armstrong?" 

"If  it  was  somebody  like  you  are  I  would. 
You  get  petticoat-fever  every  change  of  the 
moon,  take  it  like  spring  pimples  that's  always 
goin'  and  comin'.  But  some  take  it  like  the 
smallpox  and  don't  never  get  over  the  scars. 
Abe  Lincoln's  the  kind  that  will  wear  the  scars. ' ' 

"Bars  is  the  same,"  Ole  Bar  ventured. 
"Most  bars  is  done  with  their  women  folks  after 
matin '  season.  Once  in  a  lifetime  you  find  a  pair 
of  bars  stickin'  together.  Nobody  but  their 
maker  knows  what  they  do  it  fur.  It's  the  same 
with  men,  and  Abry  Linkhorn,  he  picked  him  out 
one  worth  stickin'  to. 

"Yeh — nobody  blames  him  for  gettin'  sweet 
on  Ann  Butledge.  But  poke  up  the  fire  and  let 's 
get  jolly  or  this  dead  talk  will  stir  up  the 
spooks." 

312 


THE  POEM 

While  they  were  piling  up  the  fire  and  stack 
ing  up  the  bottles,  someone  looked  down  the 
road  and  saw  a  tall,  slightly  bent  figure  ap 
proaching  in  the  darkness. 

"Boys,  he's  comin',"  Kit  Parsons  an 
nounced. 

1 1  Who — who 's  coming  ?  * ' 

"Abe  Lincoln — or  his  ghost. " 

"Thunder — I  hope  he's  not  crazy.  I  kin 
manage  Yankees  and  niggers — but  crazy  ones — 
ugh ! ' '  and  Thompson  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Pull  in  your  sorgum-sucker,"  Ole  Bar  said 
shortly,  "and  don't  none  of  you  get  nothin' 
started  about  his  gal. ' ' 

"That's  it,"  said  Jack  Armstrong.  "If  he 
hain't  forgot  about  her  let's  help  him  do  it. 
Let's  give  him  a  howlin'  good  time." 

Then  they  grew  silent,  for  he  was  approach 
ing  and  they  wondered.  They  had  not  seen  him 
since  Ann's  death. 

The  fresh  flames  were  throwing  fitful  lights 
up  into  the  overhanging  brown  branches  and 
over  the  faces  of  the  group,  when  Lincoln  came 
into  the  circle  of  light  and,  extending  his  hand 
here  and  there,  said:  "Howdy,  boys,  howdy." 

Something  like  a  sigh  of  relief  passed  around 
the  group.  He  didn't  seem  crazy. 

313 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He  dropped  himself  in  the  circle  of  light. 
Then  for  the  time  they  saw  his  face  the  effect 
of  which  was  to  bring  a  respectful  silence  over 
the  noisy  group. 

The  wind  rustled  slightly  and  a  couple  of 
brown  leaves  floated  down  to  the  fireside.  The 
gray  face  looked  up  a  moment.  Another  leaf 
was  falling.  They  all  watched  it. 

"Boys,"  said  Lincoln  in  a  voice  they  did  not 
know,  "the  leaves  are  fallin'  early." 

"Yeh — droppin'  early  this  year." 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  Then  he  said,  "I 
haven't  been  with  you  in  a  long  time." 

' '  Not  in  a  coon 's  age — and  we  're  glad  to  have 
you,  Abe." 

"I'm  glad  to  be  here.  I  felt  as  if  it  would 
do  me  good  to  see  you  all.  And  I've  brought  a 
poem  I  want  to  read  if  you  don't  care." 

"Is  it  jolly?" 

"Yeh — something  damn  jolly  is  what  we 
want. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Lincoln  slowly,  "it  is  not  jolly. 
It's  the  other  kind.  But  this  is  my  favorite  of 
all  poems.  May  I  read  it  to  you  ? ' ' 

"  Go  to  it,  Abry  Linkhorn, "  Ole  Bar  said. 

Abe  Lincoln  took  a  book  from  his  pocket, 
opened  it  and  laid  it  on  his  knee. 

314 


THE  POEM 

He  read  as  if  asking  them  the  question : 

O  why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  ? 
Like  a  swift,  fleeting  meteor,  a  fast- flying  cloud; 
A  flash  of  the  lightning,  a  break  of  the  wave, 
Man  passes  from  life  to  his  rest  in  the  grave. 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  Every  man's  eye 
was  on  the  gray  face  bending  over  the  book  in 
the  flickering  light. 

When  he  began  reading  the  next  verse  he 
lifted  his  eyes  from  the  pages  and  looked  away, 
farther  away  than  the  circle  of  brown-branched 
trees.  There  was,  to  the  men,  a  suggestion  in 
his  tone  of  an  approach  to  something  strange, 
perhaps  forbidding. 

The  leaves  of  the  oak  and  the  willow  shall  fade, 
Be  scattered  abroad  and  together  be  laid. 

He  paused  a  moment.  Involuntarily  several 
glances  were  cast  toward  the  leaves  lying  by  the 
logs  at  their  feet. 

He  went  on: 

And  the  young  and  the  old,  the  low  and  the  high, 
Shall  moulder  to  dust  and)  together  shall  lie. 

It  was  very  quiet. 

The  peasant  whose  lot  is  to  sow  and  to  reap, 
The  herdsman  who  climbs  with  his  goats  up  the  steep, 
The  beggar  who  wandered  in  search  of  his  bread, 
Have  faded  away  like  the  grass  that  we  tread. 

315 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

There  was  much  more  than  the  words  in 
the  reading. 

The  group  about  the  fire  saw  the  peasant, 
saw  the  herdsman.  They  saw  the  saint  who 
enjoyed  the  communion  of  heaven  and  the  sinner 
who  dared  to  remain  unf orgiven.  There  in  the 
quiet  of  the  night  beside  the  ashes  and  the  flames, 
he  was  making  all  these  live — and  go  their  short 
way. 

So  the  multitude  goes — like  the  flowers  or  the  weeds 

So  the  multitude  comes,  even  these  we  behold, 
To  repeat  every  tale  that  has  ever  been  told 

Kit  Parsons  punched  the  fire.  Buck  Thomp 
son  reached  for  a  bottle  and  drew  his  hand  back 
empty. 

We  are  the  same  that  our  fathers  have  been, 

We  drink  the  same  stream  and  view  the  same  sun 
And  run  the  same  course  that  our  fathers  have  run. 

Pausing  again,  as  if  a  line  of  thought  ran  in 
between  the  verses,  he  looked  away  from  the 
book.  The  next  verse  was  about  the  mother  and 
child — each,  all  are  away  to  their  dwelling  of 
rest. 

He  seemed  now/  hesitating  whether  or  not  to 
proceed.  The  men  watched  him  without  com 
ment.  His  gray  face  was  marked  with  a  fresh 

316 


THE  POEM 

baptism  of  pain  which  he  seemed  to  be  strug 
gling  to  put  away. 

With  unsteady  voice  he  read. 

The  maid  on  whose  cheek,  on  whose  brow,  in  whose  eye, 
Show  beauty  and  pleasure — 

Here  there  was  a  long  pause.  Ole  Bar  got 
up  and  went  out.  Kit  Parsons  poked  the  fire. 
Buck  Thompson  took  to  spitting.  But  no  man 
spoke  as  the  voice  by  the  fire  pronounced  the 
words  "her  triumphs — are  by,"  and  even  the 
fire  seemed  to  burn  softly. 

For  a  moment  he  glanced!  about  the  group — 
a  helpless  glance  of  appeal  to  those  strong  men. 
Buck  Thompson  was  drawing  his  sleeves  across 
his  eye,  evidently  to  remove  some  foreign  matter. 
Jack  Armstrong  was  pinching  his  red  bandanna 
down  under  his  leg.  Another  chunk  was  pitched 
into  the  fire. 

It  was  a  relief  when  he  went  on  again  to  the 
"Hand  of  the  king  that  the  scepter  hath  borne," 
and  the  "brow  of  the  priest  that  the  miter  hath 
worn."  They  seemed  to  see  the  king  and  the 
priest  and  they  felt  the  force  of  the  words  as  he 
read: 

From  the  death  we  are  shrinking,  our  fathers  would  shrink. 
To  the  lives  we  are  clinging  our  fathers  would  cling. 
But  it  speeds)  from  us  all-like-a-bird-on-the-wing. 
317 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

He  measured  the  words  off  slowly.  He  was 
not  looking  at  the  book.  Perhaps  he  saw  fleet 
birds  winging  their  way  beyond  his  vision.  His 
listeners  divined  something  of  the  kind. 

He  had  reached  another  hard  place.  He 
picked  up  the  book  and  looked  at  it  and  replaced 
it  on  his  knee.  Again  he  was  speaking  nearer  or 
farther  than  those  just  about  him. 

They  loved' — but  the  story  we  cannot  unfold  .... 
They  joyed,  but  the  tongue  of  their  gladness  is  dumb. 

"Jo,"  he  said,  handing  the  book  to  Kelsy, 
"you  know  the  poem.  Finish  it  for  the  boys." 

Kelsy  finished  it.  But  they  did  not  hear 
him.  The  poem  to  them  mattered  little.  The 
man  who  had  read  it  meant  much. 

"What's  the  name  of  that  there  poem?" 
Buck  Thompson  asked. 

"Immortality/' 

"Immortality — that  means  that  $his  here 
vale  of  tears  is  not  all  that's  comin'  to  us?" 

"That's  it.  We  are  only  here  a  little  while 
at  best.  Any  good  thing  therefore  that  we  can 
do,  let's  do  it.  We  won't  come  back  this  way, 
you  know." 

Here  Ole  Bar  returned.    They  all  looked  at 

him  inquiringly. 

318 


"What  you  lookin'  at?"  lie  growled. 
"Nothin'  the  matter  with  that  poem.  But  my 
fool  nose  she  runs  like  the  devil  at  first  frost  fall 
and  leaves  ain't  much  good  fur  shuttin'  her  off 
when 'a  poem's  go  in*  on." 

His  explanation  was  accepted. 

Lincoln  was  speaking  again.  "You've  been 
good  friends  to  have,  and  I  want  to  say,  because 
I  won't  always  be  about  these  parts,  that  if  any 
of  you  ever  get  in  need  of  a  friend  and  Abe 
Lincoln  can  help  him  out,  call  on  him.  And  I 
want  to  say  to  you  that  I  've  lived  the  best  time  of 
my  life  right  here  in  New  Salem — the  happiest 
— and — well,  I'll  see  you  again — good-bye, 
boys. ' '  And  the  tall  man  slightly  bent,  and  mov 
ing  as  if  aged,  left  the  group  around  the  fire. 

There  was  silence  about  the  fire  for  a  full 
minute. 

1 '  Poor  Old  Abe, ' '  said  Buck. 

"I'd  a  give  my  right  arm  to  have  kept  this 
here  thing  from  happenin',"  said  Armstrong. 

"Do  you  fellows  recollect,"  Kit  Parsons  said, 
"the  man  that  was  through  here  preaching  two 
years  ago — the  feller  that  preached  one  night 
about  the  '  Man  of  Sorrows  ? '  Recollect  how  the 
women  bawled?  Looked  like  they  couldn't  sup- 

319 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

press  themselves  nor  get  hold  of  enough  dry- 
goods  to  sop  Tip  their  flowin'  tears.  It's  just 
now  soakin'  into  my  head  the  reason  of  it  all." 

"Well,  what  was  it?" 

"That  feller  made  'em  see  the  man." 

Here  was  thought  for  reflection. 

A  moment  later  Buck  Thompson  took  up  a 
bottle,  threw  back  his  head  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "I'm  glad  he  didn't 
say  no  thin'  about  Ann  Rutledge." 

"Ann  Rutledge!"  exclaimed  Ole  Bar. 
* '  Idiot !  Fool !  He  didn  't  mention  nothin '  else. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

ON  THE  WAY 

IT  WAS  an  October  afternoon. 

The  first  frosts  had  fallen,  and  where,  a 
few  short  days  before,  the  goldenrod  had  shed  its 
autumn  glory,  it  now  stood  sere  and  earth-bent. 
The  late  asters  had  lost  their  color  and  the  wind 
blown  tendrils  of  summer  vines  were  but  stiff 
spirals,  clinging  to  the  sumacs  like  skeletons  of 
their  former  graceful  selves. 

In  the  Concord  burying-plot  all  was  gray  and 
brown  and  restful.  From  the  forest  of  oak  and 
hickory  on  the  one  side  the  leaves  had  fallen, 
and  lay  cradled  about  the  grave  and  strewn  over 
the  grassy  slope  that  led  to  the  little  stream 
where  willows  held  out  their  slender  arms,  nude, 
save  for  here  and  there  a  pale  and  trembling 
leaf. 

A  haze  hung  over  the  distant  fields  which 
seemed  to  permeate  the  near-by  woods,  giving  a 
tint  of  filmy  softness  even  to  the  shadows  gather 
ing  between  the  somber  tree  trunks. 

There  seined  no  living  thing  about  when  a 
man,  himself  tall  and  somber  as  the  trees  through 

which  he  walked,  came  to  the  place  of  graves, 
21  321 


THE  SOUL  OF  ANN  RUTLEDGE 

and  going  to  one  of  them  fell  beside  it  crying: 
"Ann!  Ann!" 

A  moment  lie  knelt,  speaking  the  name  before 
he  threw  himself  full-length  with  his  face  upon 
the  sod.  Whether  he  were  praying  there  or  weep 
ing  or  struggling  for  the  grace  of  resignation, 
none  might  know,  for  no  sound  came  from  his 
lips. 

It  was  not  until  the  sun  had  dropped  behind 
the  tree-top  that  he  arose.  Yet  a  little  time  he 
tarried.  Then  he  went  into  the  edge  of  the  wood 
and  stood  with  his  sad,  gray  eyes  turned  to  the 
little  mound  of  earth.  As  the  shadows  length 
ened,  reaching  out  from  the  forest  toward  the 
grave  as  if  to  gather  it  in,  they  seemed  to  bind 
him  in  also  with  the  elemental  things  about  him, 
things  rugged,  resigned,  patient  and  eternal. 

A  passing  breeze  stirred  the  dead  leaves  into 
music  like  the  plaint  murmur  of  some  long-for 
gotten  sea,  and  back  in  the  dusk  a  lone  bird  piped, 
sending  onto  the  stillness  a  message  from  the 
vague  and  shoreless  bounds  of  some  eternal 
place. 

1 '  Out  of  the  depths  fresh  strength ;  out  of  the 
dark,  new  light ;  and  even  in  the  gloom  we  are 
on  the  way." 

322 


ON  THE  WAY 

The  somber  man  in  the  gathering  shadows 
lifted  his  eyes  from  the  low  mound  to  a  cloud- 
bank  rimmed  with  silver.  The  mask  of  sorrow 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  softened.  A  faint  smile 
lit  his  face  as  he  said  reverently,  "Soul  of  Ann 
Eutledge — yes,  I  believe." 

A  bird  darted  out  of  the  shadows  and  dis 
appeared  in  the  gray  and  fading  sky. 

The  man  turned  and  started  on  his  way,  like 
the  lone  bird,  he  knew  not  whithor. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


^1158009528281 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL. LIBRARY FACILITY 


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III      III       '      ••        " 

A  A      000245275    3 


